#this move...... makes me want to seriously never buy furniture again

[xoshepard]

consignment shop will take like half my furniture which is good but also im panicky bc i have to figure out what to do with the rest of them

there's another consignment shop that i can contact but if they also don't want my shit then idk what imma do. they're all too big to move by myself even if i just wanna throw them away ;_; i haven't posted any of them on facebook marketplace or craiglist yet tho so ig i can still try that

i technically have until next week until my lease ends but i kinda feel like im gonna throw up so imma play more sdv to cope sdkjfhsk

[7ndipity]

False Pretenses

fwb!Jungkook x Reader

Summary: Just how fair does the ‘benefits’ aspect between Friends with Benefits actually extend? Based on this meme.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: crack to fluff, suggestive moments and ending, swearing, Jk has side by side washer/dryer units cause it’s funnier, reader’s referred to as ‘Ma’am’, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! Sorry it took me soo long to get to, I hope you’ll still like it tho! (I’ll also be posting a couple more pieces with this pairing in the next couple weeks, so keep your eyes peeled if you liked this)

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

It was the type of text you had gotten more than used to receiving from him over the past few months, smirking down at your phone as you waited for the elevator in his building.

“Need you so bad rn. Come over?❤”

The heart was a new addition, he must be feeling particularly needy today, you thought to yourself as the elevator doors finally opened.

Since the two of you had established this new part of your friendship, it was rare for you to go more than four or five days without receiving some variation of the same short message from him.

You were still slightly surprised by his text, seeing as you had only been over the night before, but you weren’t complaining by any means. Though you may have enjoyed pretending that Jungkook was the needier one in your arrangement, if you were completely honest, you were just as affected by him, finding yourself missing him on the nights you didn’t spend together.

When he opened the door, you noticed he looked a little more disheveled than usual, his hair sticking up all over the place, as if he’d been running his hands through it, a habit you knew he did when he was stressed.

“You got here fast.” He noted, letting you into the apartment.

“Well, your text made it sound kinda urgent, didn’t want to leave you waiting too long.” You said, wandering through into the living room, slowing to a stop as you caught sight of the chaotic state of the space, cleaning supplies and laundry scattered around, furniture moved all out of place.

“What happened in here?” You asked, turning back to Jungkook, who was now avoiding your eyes. “Koo?”

“I lied, I didn’t want sex.” He said guiltily, looking up at you. “I need you to help me clean.”

“I-, what?” You blinked at him, unsure if you heard him correctly.

He slumped back against the counter, looking stressed as he ran his hand through his hair again. ”My parents decided to surprise me by announcing they’re coming to visit tomorrow, but I’ve done nothing but sleep since I got home from tour last week, so the house is a fucking mess and everything’s a disaster and I need help, please.” He pleaded, staring at you.

You immediately began pulling your coat back on, turning back towards the door. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Y/n, please!” He quickly followed after you, catching your sleeve. “I’ll do anything you want! I’ll buy you dinner, I’ll rub your back, I’ll even let you pick what we watch for a month!”

You paused, turning to look back at him with a raised brow. “Even if I want to re-watch ‘Our Beloved Summer’ for a third time?”

He bit lip, trying to fight back a pained grimace before nodding slowly. “Whatever you want.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

“Fine.” You said reluctantly, caving as you saw the genuine desperation in his eyes. You could never say no to him.

“Thank you!” He sang, catching you in a tight hug and spinning you around in a circle. “I promise I’ll make it up to you!”

“Yeah, whatever,” You grumbled as he set you back on your feet. “Where do we start?”

“Laundry room?” He offered. “It’s mostly done, I just need to vacuum behind the machines.”

Do you really think your mom’s gonna look back there?” You raised a brow, following him down the hall.

“She’s very thorough.” He said seriously.

“Fair enough.” You shrugged. “I don’t quite see why I’m necessary for this part though?”

“I was afraid if I tried to clean back there by myself, I’d slip and get stuck or die.”

“So you want me to slip and die behind your washer instead?” You shot him an accusatory look.

“No! I’ll hold onto you and keep you safe,” He smiled reassuringly. “You know, like the buddy system.”

“I thought the buddy system was for camping so you didn’t get lost or eaten by bears?”

“It’s a multi-purpose system!” He said, his earlier agitation starting to flare up again at your teasing. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it, pass me the vacuum.” You relented, boosting yourself up on top of the dryer.

He held onto your hips to keep you balanced as you cleaned, his mind beginning to wander as he stared at your ass, his fingers starting to slowly knead your flesh absent-mindedly.

“Koo.” You warned, shooting him a quick look.

“Right, sorry.” He snapped back to attention, ceasing his movements and focusing back on the task at hand.

You finished up quickly, passing the vacuum attachment back to him and letting him help you down.

“Thank you.” He said.

“You’re welcome.” You answered, looking around expectantly. “What’s next?”

The apartment wasn’t nearly as bad of a mess as he claimed it to be, but it still took both of you several hours of work to get everything back in order, finishing off with laundry and changing all the bedding.

“Why are these sticky?!” You asked, mildly horrified as you helped him strip the sheets off his bed.

“Relax, it’s just caramel sauce.” He said.

You looked up at him confused. “We didn’t use-?”

“No no, that was just me,” He explained quickly. “I had ice cream last night.”

“Without me?!” You said, clutching your chest in feign hurt, making him roll his eyes as he let out a huff of laughter.

“I’ll add that to the list of things I need to make up for, okay?” He said.

“Eh, it’s better than where my mind went.” You said, only half joking as you grabbed the fresh sheets from him and turned back to the bed. “Almost thought you were fucking around behind my back for a second there.”

Facing away from him, you missed the way his expression suddenly turned serious as he looked at you. “I would never.”

It was strange, despite the supposedly ‘casual’ nature of your arrangement, you both found yourselves making little comments like that, words and exchanges that sounded a lot more like things said between a committed couple, rather than just two friends helping each other out till you found something more serious.

“Alright, I think that’s everything.” You said, snapping him out of his thoughts. You had finished making up the bed, even turning down the covers for him.

“Thank you, y/n.” He said gratefully. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Probably called Hobi.” You smirked, making him snort.

“Now, you promised me food, and if you lie to me twice in the same day, I’m dumping your ass.” You said, earning another laugh from him.

“Alright, whatever you want, just like I said.” He said, leaning down to give you a quick kiss.

“Although, if you wanted, I could make up for my false pretenses from earlier in a different way?” He offered, eyes darkening slightly as his hands drifted over your hips

You lightly shoved his hands away. “Not a chance, Loverboy, I’m way too tired now. You’ll have to try and ‘make it up to me’ some other time.”

“How about tomorrow?” He said, eyes twinkling mischievously, looping his arms around your waist instead to keep you close.

“I thought your parents were coming over tomorrow?” You reminded, raising a brow at him.

“You could come over after.” He suggested. “Hell, you could even come to dinner with us, my parents like getting to meet my friends.”

“Friends?” You looked up at him skeptically.

“Yeah, what?” He laughed, squeezing you lightly.

“Do you let your other friends suck your di-?”

“They don’t need to know the details of our relationship!” He said quickly, his face flushing slightly, making you snicker. “You’re still my friend, one of my best friends actually.” He added, in a soft tone.

The way he said it made your heart twist in a weird way, though you didn’t quite understand why.

“So?” He asked, staring down at you hopefully. “Will you come?”

You chewed your lip, considering. It felt like a really big commitment to meet his family, regardless of what your relationship was, but you tell it would mean a lot to him if you said yes.

“I’ll think about it.” You said finally.

He beamed.

“Thank you!” He said, leaning in to kiss you again, his lips lingering longer this time, tracing over yours lightly, making you shiver.

You pressed closer to him, hooking your arms around his neck as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss, letting your tongue delve into his mouth as his hands grip on your waist tightened.

When you pulled back for air, his pupils were blown wide, eyes almost black as he stared down at you, breathing heavily.

“Take your shirt off.” You ordered, your breaths equally unsteady.

“But I thought you said-?”

“I changed my mind.” You cut him off, tugging at the fabric impatiently. “Shirt off, now.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn

[courtingchaos]

Wooo I’m feeling some kind of way recently. Stress will do that to you.

A/N: this is fluff but seriously, no minors. I mean it.

But like, paint this picture with me.

Older Eddie (Professor Munson in my imaging), remembering all the things that make you happy. He notices you’re upset because job stuff and you’re having a hard time being in your 30’s and he gets it. It wasn’t that long ago he was there and he’s been watching you ghost around the townhouse for a week. Hair clipped up and the same pajamas you’ve had on for at least three days. He still trips over himself to see you though, even unwashed and snapping and sad. Every day he comes home and searches for you, and every day this week he’s found you in the spare room you’ve slowly turned into your space.

He’s told you he’ll clear it out and get you real office furniture but that makes you sink deeper into your depression. You talk about not being able to pay him back and he’s never once expected that.

You don’t have to. He doesn’t want you to. Let him do something for you. He just wants you to feel better.

And maybe that starts a fight because he’s already got his career and his friends and his money and his home. You’re floating in a job you hate and looking for another one to bide your time in because you actually hate the degree you spent 7 years getting. You only did it to prove to everyone else you could and now?

Now you live off of your boyfriend in his big, expensive brownstone. He’s 12 years into his field and settled and also 25 years older than you.

So what is it? You only like charity cases or something? Gotta rescue the idiot?

He knows you’re mad. He knows you lash out like this. He knows you’ll push so that everyone else leaves and you can feel like you got left instead. So maybe he snaps back at you for a second. Reminds you if he didn’t want you living with him and dating him he could find someone more age appropriate (he says with an eye roll). When you stomp up the stairs to your room he yells up to you that if he didn’t love you and was 20 years younger he’d be throwing your shit out onto the pavement outside, damn the old money next door.

Maybe you avoid him till the weekend when he’s home the whole time. You haven’t slept in the same bed and you haven’t answered a single knock or text or FaceTime. He sends you little flower emojis and a string of stars. He finds a tiktok about the Mars rover that he knows you’ll want to see and sends you some screen shots of the new menu for the whiskey bar you two like to go to. While you were sleeping he slid into your room and left your Sunday morning fancy coffee on the nightstand and when you finally wake up and notice it, you can hear him moving around in the kitchen.

You still feel like shit but at least you know he isn’t kicking you out. You know he wouldn’t, not over a stupid fight like that but still. It’s when you’re wrapped up in your robe and heading down stairs to finally speak to him you notice the bedroom door open. The bedroom you normally sleep in, with a sticky note on it. An arrow pointing in with a smiley face and crudely drawn horns. On the bed there’s a little paper bag from the expensive soap place you rarely buy from and it seems Eddie has outdone himself again. The rose shower melts and the lemon soap and that stupid body pouf you like so much that smells like candy. If you cry about it in the shower you don’t tell him and he doesn’t bring up your puffy face when you finally pad into the kitchen.

He’s baking something, it smells sweet and you spot the split packaging of the orange cinnamon pillsbury rolls in the trash and you have to swallow the lump in your throat. He hates those so you know he ran these errands yesterday when he left for those few hours. Probably ran by the grocery store first and then into that boutique that he always complains smells too much. He pauses when he see you staring into the trash can, silent and still. Doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head to try and catch your eye.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I don’t know what to do about anything and I’m panicking.

He just shrugs and smiles. He gets it. He always gets it. There’s something in him that always gets your mood swings and that deep seated anger. He’s never asked you to try and snuff that flame out, just helps you tend it.

It’s a controlled burn. You gotta let it get all the kindling out so new shit can grow.

Eddie pulls you into a hug and you lean into him. Breathe him in slow to try and get that lump to go away. You thank him for your shower and then gesture sadly behind you at the oven and thank him for the cinnamon rolls you know he hates. He laughs and it rumbles against you. He hums along to the music and you tuck your head into his neck and realize he’s got Neil Young on. There’s an old man joke on the tip of your tongue but then he starts singing along to Harvest Moon and you shut up. The tears you’ve been holding in since getting out of the shower push up and over and stain your cheeks and wet his old tshirt and he just shushes you. Sways you against him until the timer goes off and he sways you over to the stove and manages to get the round pan out without burning either of you.

Maybe it’s a rainy day and the drops patter against the windows. Eddie knows you like the rain and he dances you across the living room so he can crack the window so you can hear it coming down.

Because I’m still in love with you, I wanna see you dance again…

Sings quietly into your hair and tucks you up close and let’s you cry on his shoulder and when he feels you slowing down, taking those deep breaths to steady yourself, he pulls his phone out and replays the song so he can properly dance with you. He wants you to laugh so he holds your fingertip and first knuckle, acts like he’s playing a tiny harmonica. You giggle and he feels better, lighter. There’s color in your cheeks again and you’re looking him in the eye before you give him a kiss and drape back over him.

It’s cozy and it smells like cinnamon rolls and you’re swaying with him and you both are happy.

[bullet-prooflove]

Promises: Detective Elijah Vestri x Reader

(The Rookie)

Tagging: @kmc1989

You taste like honey, like sunshine and sweetness underneath Vestri’s lips and he can’t get enough. His fingers thread through your hair, drawing you even closer and your breathing hitches. He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows he shouldn’t but he just can’t help himself, this thing between the two of you it’s magnetic, everytime he tries to pull away, he’s drawn straight back in.

“You’re being safe right?” He whispers, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek.

You know what he’s really asking. Are you behaving yourself? Staying in your lane? You have a habit of going rogue, of chasing the story even if it’s to your detriment. It’s how the two of you met.

Someone had tried to kill you last year, you’d been looking into a political scandal and flew a little too close to the sun. He’d been assigned to the case. You were a giant pain in his ass, you refused to take the protection protocols seriously, instead of putting a hold on the story you’d pushed even harder. He would have found it admirable if it wasn’t so frustrating.

He’d ended up taking you to the range, teaching you how to shoot because he knew for a fact your level of tenacity even after this case was over, there would probably be another. He wanted to make sure you knew how to take care of yourself and that’s when things transitioned. He’d been teaching you a few self defence moves, the furniture pushed back to the edges of the living room when you’d kissed him.

Once it started, he couldn’t stop and that basically summarises your entire relationship. It’s been a year on and off, you make up, you break up but you always end up coming back to one another. The way he feels for you, it’s never been like this for him and the more he fights it, the worse it gets.

“Vestri…” You drawl out his name, drawing your attention back to him as your fingertips ghost along the stubble that lines his jaw.

He captures your fingers before pressing them against his lips.

“Promise me.” He requests.

He knows it’s pointless, it’s like trying to stop the tide creeping up along the sure. You’re a force of nature and despite the fact he loves that about you, it’s the very thing that drives you apart.

“I promise.” You murmur, your nose trailing along the length of his.

He chooses to believe you this time, for his own sake. He doesn’t want to fight tonight, it’s been a shitty day and he just wants to be with you, loving you.

He kisses you again. His lips brushing over yours, heated, tender. His palm comes to rest on the nape of your neck, thumb chasing over the scar just underneath the hinge of your jaw. It’s a reminder of that day, the one that landed you in his life.

This thing between the two of you it doesn’t work, but Vestri doesn’t care because he needs you right now.

The problem is, he always needs you.

Love Vestri Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[kim-poce]

Full House 26 - Weird Master

Previous | Next

Masterlist

CW: pet whump, caretaker new master, eating disorder mention.

=-=

“Everyone chose one,” Eri said, quickly adding “You don’t need to! of course, only if you want,” he glanced at the bedroom’s window, “The sunlight here is good.”

Little One didn’t touch the paper where Eri had printed the plants pictures —he had figured out that showing the gallery on the laptop would exige more closeness than the boy would be okay with— but at least he was looking at it, even if just not to look up to Eri.

"Pink choose the bunny-like ones," Eri said, filling the crushing silence, "And Day choose-"

"Go." Little One said, it was a single, low-whispered word. And to be honest Eri didn't want to leave, he had barely got there!

Before the tube Little One would allow him to stay longer, even if only to sit on the other side of the room, but now? Now he is scared  of his name, angry at his shadow; all the little progress Eri had earned gone.

Almost all. He told himself, getting up. The boy had told him to go so, on some level, he knows his word has value, and he knows that he can choose to be alone, “Okay, I’ll leave,” he gestured to the pictures of the plants, “If you want any of these you can tell Beige, and he can tell me. For now, excuse-me.”

- - -

Master is weird, really really weird.

The others think he is weird because he is more kind, that’s not all that weird. Former Mistress had her friends over often, they all had pets treated well better than any pet in that house.

Night said this Master can’t be trusted because he is lenient in punishments, which could only mean one thing: trap.

Little One disagrees, people don’t expect much from pets, they know they are just dumb animals, so they don’t take their mistake as seriously as the trainers make the pets believe. As long as the pet had no intention of disobeying, the punishment is brand to none. Again, in houses other than this one.

What makes this master weird isn’t his kindness, it isn’t even the fact that he doesn’t force him into touches —some of Former Mistress’s friends also didn’t force it—, his habit of making the pets pick also wasn’t weird, they were never asked to pick anything important, there is no difference between the plants in this list and which shoes matches better with Mistress’s dress.

What made Master Eri weird was his way of talking, he didn’t try to say something to a dumb animal, he tried to actually talk, he wanted full conversations, he wanted opinions, and he seemed not to bear being around a pet and stay silent. This was weird.

Part of being a pet meant that you would often stay quiet and do nothing, like furniture in the living room. Little One can’t do this, can’t be quiet, can’t be silent, can’t do anything. But good pets can.

Little One listened to him a little bit, he rather not pay attention to any word; they hurt way too much. But he never yelled, and his gestures were so little that Little One had trouble pinpoint what exactly he was talking about —He would like it if Master could gesture more instead of talking, but of course humans never care what a pet wants.

Master only talks nonsense, and not the nonsense the pets should agree and move on (“Don’t you think Gil is such a bitch?” “Am I pretty in this dress?” “Do you want to dance with me?”) No, he talks about the weather and plants, he talks about the color of the curtains he wants to buy, and then —rather than asking for a meaningless comment about the subject— he asks about Little One’s day and plans, and thoughts and many other things Pet shouldn’t have.

Little One can’t even answer the questions he was trained to, much less this. A new form of talking is too… rule-free, too hard to understand, so he doesn't try. Why try anything anyway? Try never meant nothing, trying didn’t made the touches less torturing, the beating less painful, trying never made the world make sense, it didn’t even allowed food to stay down. Trying is useless, and hurtful and bad and he doesn’t want it anymore!

"Go." the word left his mouth before he could think. Would it get him punished? Maybe, probably. Can he do anything about it? No, never. So no trying is worth it, he just kept staring at the green pictures. Little One was barely aware that he was muttering, he always was, he wondered if he was saying something bad or if he was begging. Begging never worked but he can't really control his body any longer, in truth he never could.

Master said something about Beige and left, leaving the paper behind, a thing Little One is too dirty to touch, so he blew on it and watched as the paper fell on the floor, which was impossibly cleaner than his hands.

Little One glanced at the paper for a while, then at the tube being used to feed him. He wanted to take it off, he didn't like the feeling, nor the meaning of that thing. But he had promised Beige, he didn’t quite know what a promise meant, but he felt that he should leave the tube there for a while longer.

When he curled up in himself under the blanket, partially blocking the sunlight with it, he was barely aware that he was sobbing, although he didn’t quite know the reason.

=-=

Taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain, @whump-blog, @wolfeyedwitch, @octopus-reactivated, @sufferfictionalcharacters, @rat-father, @badluck990, @onlybadendings, @inpainandsuffering, @mazeish, @neuro-whump, @freefallingup13, @sideblogformindtrash, @extemporary-username, @extemporary-username, @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight, @melancholy-in-the-morning, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @neverthelass, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpfessional, @sinning-shipping-trash, @batfacedliar-yetagain, @scp-1296, @dont-touch-my-soup, @endlesscyclezz, @nicolepascaline, @rose-pinkie, @latenightcupsofcoffee, @dyingisbadforyourhealth

[449]

[ meet your match_peter parker ]

prompt_trying to assemble 🇸🇪IKEA 🇸🇪 furniture together [...]

pairing_college!peter x college!female reader

word count_1.1k

warnings_fluff, peter being very dramatic about assembling furniture, possibly some typos and grammatical errors

"so you can save the world on multiple different occasions, but you can't put together a simple yngvar?"

"wow. you two on a first name basis now? is that how it is?” peter glares at the unassembled pieces of furniture with resentment before bringing the crinkled, abused manual up to eye level. strained eyes try to make out the pronunciation of the bold letters printed across the front page with the taunting imagery of the final product.

“i looked up the pronunciation earlier just to spite you like this.”

“the lengths you go to make fun of me,” he huffs, flipping through the pages again.

“well it’s about time you noticed,” you coo. he shakes his head in disdain, but the smile on his lips tell you otherwise.

peter parker - the shy, brilliant kid at school, the beloved spider man - has never looked so helpless and defeated as he does right now. he sits across the small living room in the 1-bedroom you two had moved into a little over a week ago, his gaze boring into the pieces of anthracite-stained plastic and metal bolts littered around the carpeted floor in front of him. his eyebrows are tightly knit together in a mixture of concentration and perplexity, and the sight alone makes you want to go over to him and pepper little kisses across his face until they unwound again. but for now, he looks back at the cover of the instruction pamphlet pensively. he can't comprehend for the life of him how all that was supposed to turn into this.

the college dorm life for the past couple years had graciously allowed your boyfriend to stay as far away as possible from his personal nightmare: assembling ikea furniture. it was always the plan for the two of you to find a separate student residence somewhere between your college and mit and to live together for the final two years. but like any good, formidable enemy, the time had come, the battle couldn’t be avoided, and it was peter parker’s turn to step up.

or try to, at least.

“seriously y/n, this is so unnecessarily difficult,” he whines. “why do all the furniture pieces have names? who named them?? why are they so difficult to pronounce? and how come none of the bolts even fit in these holes??"

"pete, i've literally put together an entire table and sofa by myself in the time you origami-ed the manual a million different ways. this isn’t an impossible task.”

“that’s because i let you take the easier ones."

"denial isn’t a pretty color on you, baby,” you chuckle as you look across the room at him; but he’s too preoccupied with deciphering the task in front of him.

"i don’t care. i give up! i’ve been at this for hours now, i can't go any longer or my brain is literally going to start to cramp." he groans in defeat, falling back on the floor to stretch his limbs.

“you know what i don’t understand, is how the hell you built that self-sustaining robot for one of your electives last month. or any of your robots, actually.” you crane your neck to check under the coffee table you’d just built, making sure everything was in the right place. “that’s hard to do. that is not something you can mass produce and sell in giant warehouses for other people to put together.”

"what, you mean jar jar? he was easy," he shrugs, as though he’d just told you he went across the street to buy a pint of ice cream. "i finished that project with ned in like, three days. ‘cus it was fun, you know? it made sense. but this... this ikea stuff is inhumane. it's setting you up for failure."

“how’s this different from your little lego projects?”

“that’s completely different. not to mention, lego does a much better job with the instructions. it’s so much more detailed and colorful and step by step. but ikea… i’m either missing pages or i got a defect manual because there’s no way step 5 is what comes after step 4,” he explains.

“well, last time i checked, 5 does come after 4…”

“you know what i mean.”

with a sigh, you stand up to trudge over to your despondent boyfriend. placing your feet on either side of him you look down, arms crossed in front of your chest. "has anyone ever told you that you're kinda dramatic?"

he hums as though seriously mulling over the question. "only my girlfriend. like every other day." his hands reach up, beckoning you to take them in yours.

"sounds like a very lovely person." you chuckle, uncrossing your arms to grab his hands and take a seat on his lap.

"she is. she keeps me humble. never let's the whole 'i'm-an-avenger' thing get too in my head."

you cup his face in your hands and lean forward to kiss the little wrinkle that’s been etched into his forehead. “good. someone’s got to.”

“guess so.”

you don't miss the way a little smirk begins to tug up a corner of his lips as he eyes you above him for a few seconds. he nuzzles into your touch, and turns his head to kiss the palm of your hand. "she also happens to be very kind, patient, selfless, crazy smart, generous, beautiful -"

“what are you trying to get at, parker?" you cut him off.

“nothing. absolutely nothing. why can’t i just take a moment to admire my selfless, generous, talented girlfriend?” he mumbles. the texture of his chapped lips tickles your skin.

“i don’t like how you keep repeating ‘selfless’,” you mumble, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “and i have a feeling i know what you’re about to ask me.”

a boyish grin blooms on his face, chestnut brown eyes twinkling with hope. “baby, would you please, please, please with a cherry on top, help me put together these stupid, evil little chairs?"

“no.”

“oh, come on!”

“nope. i said no.” you pull back, crossing your arms over your chest again.

“i swear i’ll actually help!”

“you’re about as helpful as one of these instruction manuals and you know it.”

he gasps, his hand grasping at his sweater-clad chest. “that’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“you’ll live.”

“will i, though? i wouldn’t be so sure.”

“is ‘chest pains caused by verbal teasing’ not part of your super-spidey insurance package?”

“no...” and his hands shift from his chest to the bottom of your thighs, slowly traveling up. “i have a separate insurance plan for things in that department.”

“what does that even mean?”

“i dunno, you started this whole insurance analogy.” he shakes his head as though to dismiss the subject. “’point is, i love you too, and i’ll take your half of dish-washing duties for the next two weeks?” and that grin you love so much paints across his lips once more.

hm. tempting. very tempting.

you pause, milking the silence just to make him squirm a little longer in anticipation. but you both knew he had offered you something you couldn’t resist. he wiggles his eyebrows as though that would somehow entice you, and you roll your eyes and slap his hands away from your legs.

“take my share of trash duties too and you have a deal.”

[ijustwant2write]

Reconnect-Finn Shelby x Reader

(GIF credit to @peakystitches​)

Masterlist

Tags: @captivatedbycillianmurphy​ @jenepleurepasbaby​ @amirahiddleston​ @bloodorangemoonlight @haphazardhufflepuff​ @mzcrazy2​

Requested by anonymous: ‘Hello! May i request an either tommy or finn shelby x reader? (Whicheverr one u think suits best) for this prompt i found: character A and B have been in a longterm relationship and nothing can get in between, until one day something does and they drift away. But then they reconnect emotionally and everything feels like the first time again (first kiss, first meal together etc) 🙏🏼💜 i love ur writing thank u’

Characters: Finn Shelby x Reader, Polly Gray x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Swearing, arguing, finance issues, drinking, fluff

                                    *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Finn, is that you?" I called out from our bedroom as I heard the front door open. I tensed up when I didn't hear a reply, only to let out a sigh when I heard him giggling.

He was drunk again, it happened almost every week now. Tommy would have given him something important to do for the gang, and whether or not Finn succeeded with that task, he would go out and celebrate with his mates. I would sometimes tag along if I wasn't tired from the week of working, but after seeing our finances, I realised we needed to stop acting like teenagers and start saving wisely.

"Hello my gorgeous girl." he slurred out as he entered the room.

"Hello Finn." I replied as I received a sloppy kiss to my forehead.

He flopped down beside me in bed, taking the book out of my hands and throwing it to the floor. Finn wrapped his arms around me, snuggling into my lap. I took off his hat, stroking back his hair. He was cold from the brisk walk home, causing me to shiver.

“You should have come out tonight." he said.

"I got off work late."

"He kept you again?"

"No, I decided to stay."

"Why? You always say you're tired."

"I'm tired because I'm picking up extra shifts and hours so that we can start saving up for a house."

"I've told you, we don't need to worry about that. Business is good."

"Finn, we're not going to be given the money. We have to earn it."

"Tommy will help us."

"He might help but he won't give us a lot. And even if he did hand us a house, we've got to have enough money for the bills, furniture-"

"It will be fine."

"Finn, we've not even had our wedding yet!"

We had been engaged for half a year. We were wanting to be married sooner, but problems arose with the Peaky Blinders it distracted us both from it, especially since our lives were in danger. I desperately wanted to have enough money for the wedding and house, though it looked like it was going to be one or the other at this point.

"What's wrong with the flat?" Finn now sat up.

"Did you seriously ask me that question? There's only so much I can do to this dump to make it look somewhat liveable. It just doesn't feel like home."

"We'll get the money. Don't worry. Look, look," he took my hands in his,"we will get a house. I promise. And believe me, I want to marry you as soon as I can, there needs to be another ring on that finger. And I need to see my name at the end of yours."

I stupidly believed him. Those adoring eyes I once trusted had lied to me. Finn kept his promise for a week at max, soon breaking it. I didn't mind him going out with friends, we both needed to socialise, I just disagreed with the amount of times he was out and the amount of drinks he was buying each night. He would always offer to get the next round, and although he was a Shelby, the discounts didn't make much difference at the end of the night. I decided I had to go with him to ensure that our money wasn't being poured away, struggling to stay awake for those long nights, and making work even harder every day. It was impossible to keep an eye on him like that.

Usually Finn would tell me if he was going out that night so I wouldn't worry. That stopped too. My mind was never at ease. How did I know he wasn't lying in a ditch somewhere after a job gone wrong? Or what if he was trapped somewhere by a rival gang? I could only rest when he returned, which he always luckily did. I pretended to be asleep, trying to not push him away as he slipped his arms around me, cuddling me for the rest of the night. My patience began to grow thin. I was too scared to speak up about it, worried that we would just end up having an argument. However, I knew we would have to bring it up soon, because our money was only disappearing instead of increasing.

One morning when I was leaving for work, I noticed that the drawer we locked our savings away in was slightly ajar, meaning someone had unlocked it and stupidly left it open. Of course it had to be Finn, no one had broken in during the night. My eyes widened when I saw how much he had taken, enraged that he would think me so foolish. Why would he take the money without asking? What was he using it for?

As I stormed towards the shop, I heard whooping from men in a car further up the street. My face turned into a deep frown when I recognised the car, managing to catch a glimpse of the people in it. They hadn't seen me, and I had to make sure my eyes were deceiving me.

I didn't care about the looks on me as I burst through into the shop, making a beeline for Polly's office. I harshly knocked on the door, entering when she called me.

"(Y/N)? What's wrong?" she asked, a lit cigarette in hand.

"Where's Finn?"

"Off out with his brothers, why?"

"Where are they going?"

"To the races."

I scoffed, placing a hand on my head in defeat.

"Why? What's wrong with that?"

"He told me he would be in the office all day today."

"So? Things change."

"No, he specifically told me that. I never even asked about it. He made a point meaning he didn't want to risk me waltzing in. That means he's hiding something."

"(Y/N), they're only going to bet on horses today. They're mingling."

"They're betting today?!"

She stood, putting a hand on her hip."What am I missing here?"

"Pol, he's using money that we don't have! I need a car, I need to get to him."

"Look, even if my nephew is being the biggest idiot, it's a bad idea to go there."

"Why?"

Her eyes widened."Don't snap at me young lady."

"I'm sorry, I just, I just know he's going to be stupid with what little money we have at the minute."

Polly was silent for a few seconds, and I didn't know if she was just staring me out, trying to make me leave. Perhaps she didn't think it was anything to worry over. But it was to me. She surprised me when she went into one of her drawers, pulling out a set of keys.

"Come on. I'll get one of the girls to call your work, say you're sick."

I tightly clasped my hands together as Polly drove. I was furious, trying to think of what to say to Finn when I got there. He stole our money. He went behind my back, gambling away the money we worked hard to earn. I had never said it, but Finn had it much easier than I did. For one, he worked with family, and although I liked my job, the boss could sometimes be an arsehole; second, he earned a lot more than me, so he was the bigger breadwinner between us, but I worked longer hours. Yes, he was in a gang meaning he had more days where his life was under threat, but he seemed to be having a jolly good time anyway. Really, it wouldn't have mattered who worked longer or harder, or who earned more, it was still our money to spend on our house.

As soon as Polly parked up, I was straight out of the car. She quickly followed grabbing my arm and warning me to not get lost in the crowds. I couldn't make a scene, especially since there could be potential business partners or enemies about. I refrained from rolling my eyes, knowing she was right but also knowing that I would find it extremely hard to not scream at Finn.

Polly guided me to where the men would be, ignoring the shoving and shouting. I wished for her to walk quicker. We swiftly entered the posher boxes, almost stopped by a doorman until his accomplice shut him up. I even heard him whisper 'That's Polly Gray you idiot.', the one time I was glad we had a reputation. She only paused to scan the room for the boys but I spotted them first. Quickly moving past her, I couldn't stop my fists from clenching, seeing Finn joyfully drinking and laughing with his brothers only added fire to my fury.

"Finn!" I snapped, quickly catching his attention.

"(Y/N)?" he exclaimed, struggling to stand and clattering the plates and glasses on the table."W-what are you doing here?"

"Stopping you from spending our money like a fucking idiot! Where is it?"

"Oh, Finn boy is in the doghouse." John chuckled.

"Shut up!" I fiercely pointed at him.

"Where's what?" Finn brought me back.

"Our money!"

"I told you, you do this outside." Polly warned, shoving Finn in that direction, and I knew I had to follow him.

Luckily, we were left alone. Finn continued on, finding someplace we would be alone. Once we were in the clear, the distant roar of the crowds covering our conversation, I saw him sigh quietly, running a hand down his face when he realised what was coming.

"Where's the money Finn?" I asked, calmer but with a mean tone.

"Let me explain first.”

"Explain how you took our money without asking? How you just waltzed out this morning without consulting me?"

"Tommy said that there was a good chance, a very good chance that this horse would win, and I thought it would help us if we put our money on it. Imagine how much we'll have if it wins!"

"If it wins Finn, if! You're gambling our money, why would you do something like that?"

"Because you went on about not having enough money! And here I am trying to help!"

My mouth dropped open in shock."You really don’t see the problem here."

"No, actually, I don't." he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Finn, you stole money from the drawer! You then go behind my back and bet it away. Have you thought about what we'll do if that horse loses?"

"But it won't, Tommy said."

"And what if Tommy is wrong this time? Also, don't pin this on your brother, I know he hasn't even suggested this idea."

"I'm not-urgh!" Finn groaned."Why don't you trust me?"

"I can't trust a gamble Finn. I don't think you realise how many nights I've spent lying awake, worried that we'll never have enough for our own home, and thinking that you don't even care anymore."

"Of course I care. This is why I've bet the money."

"How is this not getting in your head?"

"(Y/N)," he took my hands in his, but I couldn't even look at him,"in a few minutes we will hear them announce the winner, and we will start jumping for joy when we realise how much money we're going to get back, and we're going to be so much closer to getting our home."

"Finn, I desperately want to believe that. But even if we do win, you're in deep trouble." I took my hands away from him, turning around. I couldn't even look at my own fiance.

On queue, we heard a man come over the intercom, it was muffled to me but I knew Finn was listening intensely. Glancing over my shoulder, I watched for his reaction, turning around fully when I saw his expression. We had lost. We lost all that money.

"How could you be so fucking stupid?!" I screamed at him, throwing slaps onto his chest."Why couldn't you just listen to me? I don't understand why you had to lie to me Finn!"

I broke down crying, shoving him away from me. My sobs were loud but I didn't care. Finn could watch, see how much he upset me. My heart sank at the thought of it all gone, Finn had left scarcely any money in the drawer back at the flat.

"I'm sorry (Y/N)." Finn pathetically said.

"You know how you always go on about your family never trusting you enough for the big jobs? That you never get to go out with them and help? This is why. Because you do things like this, you fuck everything up Finn. Fuck!" I wiped away my tears, even though more spilled out."You know I've always stuck beside you, but this is the last straw Finn. I can't be with someone who doesn't want to put effort into their future."

"What are you saying? (Y/N), I can fix this. I promise I'll get the money back, I'll-"

"How? That took us so long to build that up. And you were spending our money almost every night on useless drinking. I can't Finn, I can't live like that anymore."

He ducked his head, and I almost wanted him to say something. When he didn't, I knew what I had to do.

I took a deep breath before speaking."I'm going home. I suggest you stay at Polly's tonight."

"Let me take you home-"

"No!"

"What's going on?" Tommy suddenly appeared, he, his brothers and Polly approaching.

"Your nephew, your brother, just gave away almost all of our money betting on a horse. Not only that, but he took the money without telling me. That was money for a house." I angrily explained.

"Is that true Finn?"

Finn shamefully nodded.

"We can get you your money back (Y/N)."

"It's not about that Tom. He's lied to me. He promised me he wouldn't spend our money every week, yet he did. And then he takes our money without asking me about it first."

"I'll fix it (Y/N), I promise I will." Finn was begging at this point.

"Another promise that you're bound to break. I've had enough today."

"Let's get you home love." Polly said, putting a stop to this argument as she stepped forward, taking me under her arm.

Finn didn't come home that night. I didn't sleep. I was sat at the tiny dining table, staring at the ring on my finger, wondering what to do. It broke my heart to think about leaving him, but it also broke my heart thinking about how reckless he had been. Did I really want to be marrying someone who acted like this? Would he mature? My heart wanted to believe he would, but my mind kept telling me that today confirmed he wouldn't. That was one of the worst nights of my life.

                                     *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I couldn't stand this job any longer. But it was the only thing keeping me alive. It was crappy work, the pay was just above minimum, enough for me to buy food, pay my rent and have the tiniest amount left over. Saving up money was hard when it was just you. Even after two years, I didn't have enough to consider looking at places of my own, or with less roommates. It was exhausting keeping up with these girls I lived with, there were 6 of us altogether. It was a big change when I moved away from Small Heath.

"You ready (Y/N)?" one of my roommates called out to me as I finished applying my lipstick.

"Just a second!" I replied, checking myself in the mirror.

It was the rare occasion that I was going out with them, the one time we could all go out together at all. I was looking forward to a few drinks, and although that sounded hypocritical, I realised that I had to have a night or two in at least a month to relieve myself of the stress I put upon myself.

We arrived at the small club we always went to, it had the cheapest drinks this side of town. We all shivered in the cold weather, walking as fast as we could to make it to the club. The warmth was very welcome, as well as the loud music that drew us further in. It was the usual routine, a few of us grab a table, the others get the drinks in, then we would all make our way to the dance floor. Hours passed, and I had to get away from the heat coming from the dancing, stepping back towards our table to get a drink. I saw my roommate stumbling in the direction of the bar, rolling my eyes as I went to help her, perhaps getting a drink whilst I was there. However, once I got closer, I stared at the man she was starting to flirt with.

"Isaiah?" I said as I got closer.

"(Y/N)!" he smiled, bringing me in for a hug.

"You two know each other?" my roommate asked, looking disappointed.

"He's an old friend. Just that, nothing else."

Isaiah let me go."How long has it been? Two years?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, two years. What are you doing here?"

"Business. Nothing dangerous though, you girls are still in for a good night. Especially you if you're good." he winked to my roommate.

"Is he...is he here?" my voice suddenly went shaky, and I felt almost completely sober.

Isaiah's playful nature dropped."Uh, he is. He's really misses you (Y/N). Hasn't even looked at another girl since you left. He's just not been the same." I wasn't sure how to reply.

"I can't not tell him I saw you. Imagine if he found out, he would be so upset with me."

"I know. I wouldn't want to hurt your friendship."

"Maybe you should see him. It might do you both some good."

"Or the opposite."

"He still loves you. Even if you don't feel the same, it could bring closure. But I know you (Y/N), I can tell what you're thinking."

"You were always annoying like that."

"He's out front, in the corridor. That's all I'm going to say."

I looked at him for a few seconds, trying to make my mind up."Well, this one is a handful, just so you know."

"I think I can handle her." Isaiah smirked.

"I was warning her about you."

I giggled at his reaction, walking away and leaving him in his natural habitat of flirting. But as soon as I turned around, my stomach dropped, nerves filling up my entire body. He was here. I hadn't seen him for two years, though I thought about him everyday. Would he look different? Did I look different? What was he going to say? What was I going to say? My brain didn't want to think of any words, maybe I was about to babble absolute nonsense to him.

Upon seeing him, my throat tightened, the cool air slapping me in the face; oh, now I was sober. He hadn't noticed yet, leaning up against a wall, hands in his pockets. Wow, he had changed. His boyish charm was still there, yet he had matured into a handsome young man. It was like I was seeing him for the first time all over again. I was just happy that he would be seeing me in my finer clothes rather than catching me after work.

Urging my feet to move, I almost sighed at how small my steps were. I really was scared. Isaiah had said reassuring things, yet I couldn't even walk up to him. It was too late to back out now, especially when he finally looked up at me. I froze on the spot, not knowing what to do. Finn seemed the same way.

"(Y/N)." he said, I only just heard it.

"Hello."

Hello? Really, that's all I could come up with?

He pushed himself off the wall, coming to stand in front of me, though not too close."I...I can't believe you're here."

"I could say the same about you."

"This is where you've been living then."

I nodded."It's not too bad. I mean, I'm on a night out."

"Who are you with?"

I knew he was wondering if I was with a man."My roommates, I live with five other girls."

"Oh, that's a lot."

"Yeah, it's the only place I could afford."

"I hope it's nice."

"I shouldn't complain. A lot better than other places."

We both knew we were making an awful attempt at small talk. I was sure he had so much to say like I did, we just didn't want to dump it on each other in case the other ran away. It was like we were teenagers again, awkwardly trying to think of something to fill the dreaded silence.

"I really want to talk about us (Y/N)." Finn said.

"You do?"

"I...I just have so much to say to you. I can't do it now, but what about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow, um, yes, yes tomorrow works for me. It's the weekend, so I'm not working."

He smiled slightly."OK, good. I'll come get you. Um, I need your address."

"Oh, here." I dug around in my purse, thankful there was a folded up tissue and a pen, it was good to be prepared. I wrote down my address, handing it to him.

"I'll pick you up at one. I would want it to be earlier, you just never know what time you'll be back with this sort of thing."

"I understand Finn, I did live this with you once."

I barely slept, even when we stumbled in at three in the morning. Luckily I hadn't seen Finn, Isaiah or any other Peaky Blinder that evening, no doubt settling business behind the scenes. Despite the lack of sleep, I was wide awake the next morning, up before everyone else who were nursing their hangovers, trying on multiple outfits in a desperate attempt to look nice, but not as if I put too much effort in. The clock was rolling onto one o'clock, and my heart was beating much faster than usual. I was about to make my way downstairs when something glistened on my small vanity. Should I take it? Yes, I would.

Finn knocked on the door, and I waited a few seconds before opening it. We smiled as we greeted each other, not going in for a hug or kiss on the cheek, something I was worried about. That was the first hurdle jumped over.

"How was your evening?" Finn struck up a conversation as we walked further into town.

"Much better than yours I presume?" I smirked. He chuckled."Yeah, didn't exactly get to enjoy the music. Small fight, nothing we couldn't handle."

It was strange hearing about Blinder business again."Well I'm glad you're all safe."

"I thought we could go out for lunch, saw a nice place round here."

"Oh, that would be lovely."

"We don't have to, if you don't feel comfortable."

"No, no, no, it's not that. It's just a lovely thing for you to do."

We both bashfully smiled, luckily the restaurant was just around the corner. I had expected nothing less when we walked into the fancy place, not because I thought I deserved it, but because Finn wouldn't be seen anywhere else. His clothes were even more tailored now than they had been the last I saw him, indicating that the gang had been doing well, more money was coming in. We both immediately picked up our menus as we sat, hoping someone would speak first. Our eyes glanced over the top of them, it was as if we were on our first date again, only this time in a better establishment.

"You look beautiful." he said, still hiding part of his face.

"Thank you." I blushed.

"I'll never forget what you wore when I picked you up for our first date. That blue dress you just bought, with a matching purse, and those heels that you hadn't practiced walking in. Well, you used that as an excuse to latch into my arm all night."

I smiled, placing down my menu."It was a good plan, wasn't it? And I did struggle in those heels, I just didn't want to embarrass myself."

He copied me."I liked holding your hand all night."

"What a sweet sentiment."

"I mean it. And I mean this date. That didn't sound right, but...what I'm trying to say is that I want to make it all up to you."

"You do?"

"Yes! I really didn't expect you to leave. I mean I did, but I didn't want to believe that. I didn't want to believe that I had been so selfish that I couldn't even see how much I had hurt you." 

“That was the hardest decision I ever made. Most days I battle with myself whether I made the right choice. All night I kept making deals with myself. If you came back, I would hear you out, and if it was good enough for me I would stay. But then you didn’t, so I said to myself ‘Give him another hour.’. An hour went by, and I said the same thing to myself. That went on for the whole evening until I found myself angrily packing my things. Even then, I sat by door on top of my suitcase for another hour or so.”

“I thought you just got up and left. I didn’t realise how long you waited for me.” he sighed into his hands.“I’m such a fucking idiot.”

I could tell he was full of regret. Although it sounded sadistic, I was glad that he was upset when reflecting on our past relationship, it meant he realised his mistake. On the other hand, I hated seeing him sad. I took his hands away from his face, hesitantly reaching into my handbag to pull out the engagement ring I kept.

His eyes widened.“You still have that? I looked everywhere for it when you left, guessed you took it to sell.”

“I won’t lie, that was my intention at first. But it meant too much to me. It was like selling a piece of my soul. I kept it hidden, I didn’t want to risk any of the girls seeing it, they would just ask too many questions.”

I kept my eye on the beautiful ring as I spoke, slowly twirling it around to catch it twinkling in the light.

"I had such a hard time picking that out. I knew what you wanted, but I had to get it right for you. I'm so glad you kept it."

"I did try to sell it. I was stood outside of a shop for ten minutes debating with myself. It would have helped a lot for the deposit on the room, but I couldn't do it."

We were silent, both staring at the ring. We used to do that a lot actually. Finn would take my hand and hold it up as we laid in bed together, both giggling as we watched it glisten like it was in present times, before squealing at the thought of us being married to each other. I constantly fiddled with it when he was off on business, a habit which never wore off, even now; whenever I was nervous or worried, I would automatically do the same action, just without the ring.

A waiter awkwardly interrupted us, and I hurriedly put the ring back in my bag, sharing an embarrassed smile with Finn as we ordered. Once he was gone, I quietly sighed, looking out of the window. We were in such a nice part of town, so many ladies in beautiful dresses and men in smart suits strolling around.

"Are you...are you OK for money?" Finn boldly asked.

I was a little shocked by that.

"I don't mean anything by it. I just want to make sure you're OK, I would hate for you to be struggling, if you were."

"Uh, no, no I'm fine actually. It's not as generous as my old wage but it keeps me alive, I can live with the bare necessities."

I could see him itching to say something else, to keep the conversation going. I wasn't sure if we could go back to the serious topic we had before. However, I also wanted to bring it back up, it felt like we needed to talk about us.

"How's the family?" That's all I could come up with.

"They're fine. Everyone is the same. Well, they're not, they're a bit more serious nowadays."

"They weren't in the first place?"

He smiled."I suppose they were. Tension is the right word, tensions have been rising. Tommy's taking on a lot more, Polly knows all these secrets that no one else does, Ada is rebelling against anything Tommy says, Linda is still annoying, Esme and John have been popping kids out left, right and centre. Arthur is still crazy."

"Sounds like business as usual to me."

"They miss you too."

"Do they?"

"Yeah. Almost as much as me."

I cast my eyes down as butterflies rose in my stomach.

"I heard nothing else for the next few weeks after you left. They all told me what an idiot I was, that I was an extremely reckless, stupid and immature boy, and that I had let the best thing in my life get away from me. And they were right. I knew all of that already."

"I...I don't really know what to say right now."

"You don't have to say anything, let's just enjoy this meal, no more of that talk."

The nerves making my stomach flip built at that. What if we had nothing else to talk about? What if it was too weird to dive into our separate lives? I didn't want to sit across my ex-fiance, painfully and politely smiling through forced conversation.

The spark was still there.

When the waiter had returned with our drinks, we were already deep in talk about what had been happening in our personal everyday life. We were non stop, even as we ate through dinner. The waiters had trouble catching our attention each time they checked on us. I was deep in those eyes again, the ones I always dreamed of seeing. We were laughing hysterically, not at all acting how we should have in that establishment (there were a few eye rolls from other patrons). As if time had gone by in a second, the bill was slipped towards Finn, though I still reached into my purse.

"Are you mad? No, put your money away, I'm not taking it." Finn stated as he carelessly threw down some notes, surprisingly taking my hand in his and guiding me out of the restaurant.

I was tense as we walked, and I saw a flash of realisation in Finn's eyes as we made it outside. Both looking down at our interlocked fingers, Finn broke away, clearing his throat.

"Sorry, force of habit."

Hesitating, I smiled up at him, lacing our hands together again."These are new heels I'm breaking in. Need help walking in them."

He chuckled, pulling me closer as we walked down the street. We were silent, feeling like kids in love again. I couldn't deny that my feelings were still strong for Finn, I missed him dearly. At first, part of me had been wary of all this, wondering if he really had good intentions, or just thought he could get a quick shag in from an ex before he left; but the effort he went through, the things we spoke about, trying to heal old wounds, Finn had matured and he was wanting to fix this. I wanted to fix this, my heart was aching for my old life with him. 

“We’re not done yet, are we?” I timidly asked.

“Not unless you want it to be.”

I instantly shook my head.“No, I’d like to stay out for longer.”

“Even though you’re struggling in your heels?”

I smirked.“I know a nice place we can sit down.”

I took him to the local park, it had a huge lake with benches dotted around, luckily it wasn’t busy, there was somehow a hint of privacy here. We sat down close to each other, hands still entwined. 

“You still hungry?” I asked.

“Hm?”

I dug into my purse, producing a bag of sweets I had bought the previous day. I laughed as his eyes lit up, taking one without even asking. I took one too, reminiscing on how we used to do the same thing as kids. It seemed he was thinking about it too.

“Just like the old days.” Finn said.

“We spent way too much money on sweets back then. It’s a wonder we still have our teeth.”

 “Wish I got out of that spending habit. We could be married and in our new house by now.”

“So you never wanted to move on? You didn’t give in to those girls wanting to be with a Peaky Blinder?”

“Never. I couldn’t. I couldn’t even fathom being with anyone else, it was always you (Y/N). Did you date?”

“No, I felt exactly the same. Which is why I was angry at myself for a long time. I was supposed to be upset with you, not still in love.”

His head whipped round to face me.“You still love me?”

My mouth was still open, unsure how to answer. It seemed I didn’t have to as Finn leaned in, placing on hand on my cheek as we kissed. Instinctively I kissed back, placing my hands on him where I could, hearing the bag of sweets fall to the ground and spill its contents. This kiss was needy, the type of kiss you gave your partner when you had missed them, when they had been away for a long time; and although we had our hands on each other, our touch was still gentle.

“Get the ring.” Finn breathed out, our lips still almost touching.

I carelessly got it for him, heart beating extremely fast. He took it from me, pecking me on the lips one last time before standing up. He straightened out his suit, took a deep breath and got down on one knee. I was just as emotional the first time he did it.

“(Y/N), I know I messed up everything in the past, I was careless when I should have been supportive and helped to build our future. I learnt from those mistakes, and I really, really want to go back to how we were. I need you (Y/N), I love you so much. There aren’t enough words to express how much love I have for you. Will you marry me?”

I didn’t need to think about my answer. I blurted out a yes, waiting for him to slide the ring back on my finger before throwing myself onto him. We stumbled back onto the ground, our arms around each other as we laughed and cried. I believed him this time, I truly believed him. He put in the effort to show me his changes, he wanted to fix everything. I wanted things back to the way they were with my man, and we were back to building our future and living the rest of our lives together.

[negotiatingwithmymuse]

Right Behind the Ear

[First time writing something like this in all regards]

“Break time!” Wolf announced as he slid down the wall by the window.

Diane looked at him a bit surprised. She had just begun working on the dining table when Wolf called out.

“Really?” She asked an eyebrow raised “You don’t want to wait until everyone gets back with the food.”

She gestured with her head to the lift. Wolf gave a carefree grin in response.

“Being extra relaxed before the food gets here will make it taste even better.” He stated.

He patted the empty space beside him. Diane shook her head with a chuckle and abandoned the table. She slid down next to the gray wolf and couldn’t help the relieved sigh that escaped her. They sat in silence for a little bit looking over the ex-bad guys’ home. 

With all their loot gone their home was barren. The cops had recovered everything they had stolen which to Diane’s bewilderment included the table, the tv, and even their beds. To be honest, however, Diane was only told the beds and various furniture were stolen. Some of it? Sure, but all of it? She assumed that the police maybe got a little overzealous when recovering all the robbed valuables. 

To make up for it Diane promised to buy them a few pieces and help out with renovating their home. They had been working all day, but around the afternoon everyone found themselves starving and arguing over what they should get. In the end Shark, Tarantula, Snake, and Pirahna set out to gather an assortment of cuisine. 

Wolf raised his hands, using his fingers to make a frame.

“The place is really coming together.” He said as he imagined where they would put new decorations and furniture.

Moving across the wide room he spotted the cat; they still needed a name for it; settled on a kitchen counter sleeping peacefully. He then scrolled over to Diane and found the fox looking at her phone rather intently. Wolf guessed that she must have been watching a video as she pressed her finger to the screen and pulled it a little to the left.

“Whatcha got there?” Wolf asked, leaning over until their shoulders touched and he could see.

Diane was indeed watching a video in which Wolf could make out a familiar cat, a familiar sheep suit, and a familiar wolf.

“Seriously?” He huffed sending Diane an incredulous look.

“What?” She laughed. “I actually never watched the video before.”

“Really? You never watched the video of me showing off my good side.”

With no thought, Wolf casually draped his arm around Diane allowing his hand to rest on her opposite shoulder.

“The start of your good side.” Diane emphasized. “Though I knew it was always there.”

She paused glancing at him and then back to her phone. Wolf noticed a blush starting to spread across her face.

“Show’s a pretty cute side of you too.” She added still not quite looking at him.

“Oh!” Wolf exclaimed.

His ears perked up and he felt his cheeks start to flush. He hoped that the laugh he let out sounded flattered and charming, but in reality, it sounded surprisingly embarrassed and shy. He became very aware of his arm around Diane’s shoulders and started to debate whether to leave it where it was or remove it.

“You know Marmalade,” Diane said the guinea pig’s name with clear disdain. “Actually recorded quite a bit of your little rescue.”

“How much?” Wolf asked.

Diane looked at him again. Her blush remained, but now it was paired with an apprehensive and curious expression. She sat up a bit straighter, Wolf’s arm dropped from her shoulders and he decided to ignore how that made him feel. She still kept her eyes fixed on him. Her expression shifted to one of a bit more daring, as though she was letting the Crimson Paw emerge some.

“Enough to catch a little fact about you.” Diane said and leaned towards him slowly reaching her hand towards his face.

Wolf watched carefully as her hand passed his eyes and headed towards the top of his head.

‘That little rat caught that much!’ He thought angrily. ‘That was a-Oh!’

His thought process stopped dead when he felt Diane’s hand land on his head right behind his right ear. She started to gently scratch.

“Just a little fact about a spot right behind your ear.” She laughed.

A shiver ran up Wolf’s spine and through his fur. His ears flattened back giving more access and she scooted even closer to the point their hips almost touched. He leaned into her scratching and a smile stretched across his face. Diane giggled at his actions.

“Whose a cute and good boy?” She teased.

“I’m not answering that, we both know the answer.” He replied.

He pulled her closer resting his head on her shoulder. Wolf closed his eyes trying to focus all his attention on Diane’s actions which improved when he felt her other hand join in. She managed to find another spot he wasn’t even aware of.

‘It feels so good having her run her finger’s through my fur.’ He mused.

“You’re really enjoying this aren’t you.” Diane teased again, causing Wolf to partially open his eyes to look at her.

From his position, Wolf could just make out her face and where she was currently looking.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” He answered happily.

Diane was looking at his tail which was wagging hard enough to move a few shreds of paper that they sat beside. He was wagging so hard in fact that it caused him to wiggle some. Though he wasn’t wiggling hard enough to move himself and Diane. Confused and interested Wolf tracked his eyes from his resting spot on Diane’s should and down her back.

“You’re apparently enjoying it too.” Wolf said with a small laugh.

Diane playfully rolled her eyes. Her tail was also wagging, the sweeping motion also clearing away any trash that was near her. Suddenly a thought crossed Wolf’s mind.

‘I wonder…’ He thought and sat up the motion causing Diane to cease.

“What is it?” She asked not sure if she managed to do something or if he just wanted her to simply stop.

Wolf didn’t say anything and just eyed her ears. Diane watched his hands as he slowly raised them towards her face as she had done. Wolf paused for a moment waiting for Diane to signal if this was okay or not. She gave a slight nod and he continued until his hands were resting on the back of her head and slowly started running his nails through her fur. He had a very concentrated look on his face which Diane found cute.

“You know I don’t know if I even have a-OH!” She stopped; her ears lowered, her smile grew larger and her tail started to wag harder.

Behind her left ear, down a little, and a little from the middle of her head Diane had her feel-good spot. Wolf felt some pride in the discovery.

“Whose a good and cute girl?” He said in a cutesy voice.

Diane’s response was to go back to scratching behind Wolf’s ear. They continued like that for a little. Blushes on both their faces, tails wagging, and giggles between the two.

“Oh, Moe.” Diane cooed.

Another shiver ran through him. They didn’t have many or any visits during their prison stint. They didn’t make any other friends while they were the bad guys. Diane visited them instead on occasion and if she couldn’t come to see them they were at least able to call her sometimes. During that time Wolf admitted to her that his first name was Moe though he wasn't big on it being used. It felt good to hear her say it.

What wasn’t good was hearing a click and seeing a bright flash. The pair’s hands froze, their ears became alert, they sat up straight and their eyes widened. At the lift were Shark, Tarantula, Snake, and Piranha. With them was a medley of food; Italian, Mexican, Chinese, and even carryout plates from their favorite diner. More important and problematic was Snake’s tail curled around their camera and the picture that slid out.

The four were doing a terrible job of hiding their snickers.

“Oh, we weren’t interrupting anything were we.” Snake said with a sly grin.

“I almost feel bad about it, look at how cute they are.” Tarantula exaggerated her statement with a pouty face.

“They really are!” Shark took the photo and held their prize in the air.

In the photo where Wolf and Diane were sitting close enough that their hips touched. The ears settled back, hands on the back of one another’s heads, and their tails captured almost perfectly still despite their wagging. Much to Wolf and Diane’s shock was how much more intimate the photo looked. It revealed that they had been looking deeply into one another’s eyes and the photo caught while she was saying his name and caught Wolf when he was about to say something himself. The frozen capture made it look like they were about to kiss.

“We could always leave again.” Piranha took his turn to tease. “Dim the lights, run out real quick, grab you two some flowers and candles.”

“Oh, and they can have a cute little cake between them.” Tarantula added.

“A little mood music.” Snake said

“We’d have to make sure to dim the lights and cover up the windows.” Shark joined him.

Diane and Wolf jumped to their feet. Their tails had stopped wagging as embarrassment coursed through them.

“Hey, uh,  how long have you guys been standing there?” Wolf asked trying to bring some anger or annoyance to his tone.

‘And how many people are just going to catch me in moments like this.’ He thought.

“Just long enough to capture such a cute moment.” Snake joked and grabbed the picture from Shark. “And it’s perfect for the fridge.”

While there was nothing wrong with the old fridge they still decided to get a new and slightly bigger one. The size allowed not only for a bit more food, but also provided plenty of space for twice the photos.

“We don’t have many with Diane and we especially don’t have one with you and Diane.” Snake continued.

“Oh! But one the fridge? I think we should frame it like some of our other special ones.” Piranha said gesturing to some of the frames they had which held certain prized memories. A questionably kept picture of their first major robbery, a smaller set of frames each containing photos from one of their birthdays, and one they took at the diner the day they got released.

“I like that! But I don’t think we have one that looks like a heart.” Shark said and four started to laugh.

 Diane cleared her throat.

“Well as sweet as that sounds, I think that you should give the photo to Wolf and me.” Diane extended her hand waiting to receive the picture.

Snake, Tarantula, Shark, and Piranha looked at her unimpressed. Snaked waved the photo.

“Not happening and if you want it you’ll have to take it.” Snake taunted.

“Oh yeah?” Diane raised an eyebrow at Snake’s challenge. “What makes you think that I can’t get it.”

She cracked her knuckles and stretched her neck. Everyone’s eyes widened, Diane had slipped fully into Crimson Paw mode.

“Scatter!” Tarantula yelled.

They split from the fridge right Diane rushed forward trapping Snake between it and her. Snake’s eyes widened in surprise alongside a yelp before turning smug. He waved his empty tail taking some pleasure in Diane’s disappointment. Behind and to the right of her she heard a lamp fall over.

“Piranha get back here!” Wolf yelled.

Wolf’s foot briefly tangled with the lamp’s cord. Shaking it free he rushed after his wild friend. Piranha jumped and rounded several boxes while Wolf tried his best to keep up. So focused on Piranha that Wolf failed to notice Shark coming to block his path and slammed right into Shark’s chest.

“Nope.” Shark laughed.

“Excuse me!” Diane said as she ran up to Wolf and Shark.

Using Wolf’s back as a springboard Diane flipped over Shark’s head. Piranha made it to the far wall and undeterred he jumped onto the wall, kicking off and propelling himself back towards the makeshift kitchen area. Diane duplicated Pirahna’s actions. Using her longer stride she got close enough to jump and tackle the fish. The photo went flying from his grasp.

“Got it!” Snake raised himself as high as his body would allow ready to grab the photo in his teeth.

“No you don’t” Wolf smiled as he intercepted the photo. 

A short-lived victory.

“Snake attack!” Snake called.

“Huh?” Wolf looked back despite himself and felt something him in the face and rest on his nose.

It was a cat toy. The moment Wolf realized it was the moment when the cat landed full force on his face knocking him down.

“Kitty no!” Wolf yelped, the cat decided that he was the best spot to start batting the toy about.

The photo drifted to the floor and Diane was just on top of it when an orange blur rushed past her.

“Tarantula!” Diane yelled while the arachnid laughed triumphantly. 

“Shark give me a boost!” Tarantula called out.

Shark came to her immediately, lowering his hand for her. She hopped on making sure she had a firm grip on the photo.

“Here you go queen!” Shark cheered and Tarantula upwards towards one of the ceiling beams

Tarantula’s legs stuck to the wood and she walked over to the top. She stuck her tongue out playfully and waved to everyone below. She, Piranha, Snake, and Shark took a bit of pleasure in picking, pointing, and prodding at Diane and Wolf with wide smiles on their lips.

“Don’t think you’re safe I will come up there.” Diane declared. “Wolf give me a lift.”

Wolf nodded as confirmation and began to bend down with his hands together when Diane’s phone rang. She gave made a frustrated noise and went over to the kitchen counter to retrieve her phone. She looked at the caller notification before answering in a clear and authoritative tone.

“Hello, this Governer Foxington speaking.”

As she continued to focus on Tarantula and the situation at hand.

“Webs, come on, just give me the picture. You can’t stay up there forever.” Wolf said fixing her with a glare.

“I can stay up here long enough.” Tarantula taunted. “But hey it’s also a pretty nice spot up here to place this little treasure.”

She made her point by holding the picture to the side of the rafter where everyone had a perfect view of it. Suddenly there was the thump of footsteps rushing towards the group. Tarantula screamed and rolled back onto the top of the rafter. Diane made a running leap towards the beam the tip of her fingers grazed where the photo once was. She landed with a huff before turning around to give Tarantula a stern look. Tarantula returned with a parody of Diane’s expression.

“Okay well holding my food wasn’t the best decision.” Diane chided herself.

In her arms was a carryout plate of Chinese tucked securely in her arms. Sighing once more Diane made her way to the lift.

“Sorry guys, but I’ve got to go. I’ve been waiting on some papers in regards to Marmalade’s house exploding.” She glanced over at Snake who wore quite possibly the largest proud smirk she’d ever seen. “It hopefully shouldn’t take too long so I can try to be back to help a little more. And Wolf, I’m leaving it to you to get that photo.”

“Oh, don’t worry I’m on it.” He said looking at the plate she held, an idea forming.

Everyone gleefully waved goodbye, though Shark, Snake, Tarantula, and Piranha couldn’t help themselves.

“Bye Diane!” They cooed her name, in the same manner, she had done Wolf’s, earning them an eye roll.

Their laughter slowly died down. A delicious scent filled the room, causing their stomachs to rumble. Wolf had made his way to the assortment of meals and had opened one of them. Notably, it wasn’t his. An Italian scent that made Tarantual anxious.

“Uh, Wolfie,” She watched him closely, “What are you doing? I’m pretty sure that’s mine.”

Wolf looked up at her mischievously. He brought up a saltimbocca and inhaled the aroma.

“This? Oh, it’s just your favorite food. Honestly never really understood why you like this so much. Then again veal’s not really my taste, although I’ve never given it a try.” He then popped the food into his mouth and chewed intently.

“Ah!” Tarantula screamed her hands flying to her head. “What are you doing?”

“What? I’m just trying to see what the big deal is! It tastes pretty good, but maybe I need another to confirm.” He finished his statement by throwing another into his mouth.

He looked over to the distressed Tarantula with a smug smile.

“You know it’s actually pretty tasty.” He held up another saltimbocca and this time offered it out to the other guys. “You guys should really try this.”

“Oh come man that’s low even for you.” Shark said but didn’t look away from Tarantula’s meal.

“Hey, don’t make seem like I’m doing something bad, that’s behind us. I’m just sharing. Tarantula’s sharing an experience with us.” Wolf looked to Piranha who was starting to drool some. “Come on, hermano I know you’ve wanted to try this too.”

Wolf made and didn’t break eye contact with Tarantula as he flicked the saltimbocca into the air. Piranha leaped and caught it in his mouth. He landed with a satisfied hum, rubbing his stomach appreciatively.

“Oh! That’s so good!” He declared.

This stirred Shark’s interest and his stomach rumbled once again. It did smell good. Shark stared at Wolf intently as he pulled another piece out. Wolf contemplated eating and knowing turned his attention to Shark.

“No no no no! Shark don’t you dare!” Tarantula yelled from her perch.

But her cry fell on deaf ears as Shark opened his mouth wide and Wolf tossed the saltimbocca right into his mouth.

“Mmmh! Oh, I can’t believe I never tried that before! Webs you have some good taste.” Shark spoke over his shoulder to the betrayed spider.

Now all the guys were crowding near Wolf and her food. Wolf smiled like the mastermind he was, a twinkle in his eye that he still hadn’t quite lost. Snake snatched the next piece right out of Wolf’s hand, surprising his friend.

“What? I don’t want to be left out.” Snake said and promptly threw the saltimbocca into his mouth, chewing and swallowing appreciatively. “Not my thing really, but still pretty good.”

“ENOUGH!” Tarantula yelled causing everyone to snap their attention to her.

She ran across the beam and down the side of the wall. She crawled up a box and leaped onto Piranha and then the counter. The action was somewhat awkward thanks to the photo she brought with her. Reaching Wolf and her food she shoved the picture to him. She swiped at him making him back away.

“There’s your stupid photo, now get away you animal.” She fumed and opened the carryout plate to assess the damage. “No!”

In the container were only seven remaining saltimbocca.

“Sorry Webs, but let’s be honest you wouldn’t have been able to eat all that.” Shark tried to console her.

“Yes, I could have! I ordered a large for a reason!” She said and couldn’t the need to stomp her feet. “It’s a cheat day which means I can eat whatever and how much I want. And if I couldn’t I would have had some for later or did you forget that leftovers exist.”

“Oh come on Webs we’re sorry.” Snake said with a charming smile.

Piranha and Shark gave their apologies as well while Wolf mumbled his apology mostly focusing on the photo in his hand.

“If you want to apologize then you each have to give me some of your food.” She affirmed them with a stern look.

“Go nuts.” Wolf said quickly, patting his carryout container of Mexican food.

He vaguely heard his friends debate the merit of Tarantula receiving so much of their food and if she could eat so much of it, leftovers or not. Wolf made his way to his room, only looking up from the photo to make sure he didn’t trip over anything.

‘It is a pretty cute photo.’ He thought while a smile graced his face.

He stared dreamily at Diane and himself in the photo, especially Diane. He could feel his cheeks start to blush and his tail started to slightly wag. He shook himself free from his reverie and found himself particularly happy that he wasn’t being spied on again. His room, like the others, was fairly unfurnished save for a bed and a dresser draw. On said drawer, he had a stack of books. Three actual books and one with a hollow center. Pulling the book from the bottom of the stack he opened it and gingerly placed the picture in the center. 

Diane wouldn’t be riled up about him keeping it; heck she might even want a copy herself once she knew it was safe from everyone else. For now, he had to make sure Tarantula did’t go overboard with her food reparations. 

[hwascripts]

Domestic life with Hawks (Keigo)

Desc: What it’s like being married to Hawks, living with him, my own personal headcanons and how he is as a husband overall

TW// Swearing, very brief mention of Hawks’ childhood trauma (you’ll miss it if you blink kinda thing)

oh my god I have not posted a headcanon in over 2 months- let’s hope this makes up for it

Masterlist

-Let me just get the ball rolling and say this man will tease you 25/8. He 100% uses his feathers to snatch things out of your hands, or he’ll move every piece of furniture a few inches so that you’re confused but not suspicious.

“Keigo was this table here before?”

“Yeah babe, it’s been there since we first bought it”

“Strange...I could of sworn it was closer to the right”

-Little shit can barely hold back his chuckles as he watches you knock into everything like a baby deer.

-Aside from teasing you relentlessly I don’t think he would ever pull any seriously harmful pranks- he hates when you’re angry with him.

-Because of how busy he is being the number 2 hero neither of you get to go on as many dates as you want. Dates with Hawks usually only happen once a month- twice if you’re lucky.

-But it’s okay because Hawks is the type of husband that won’t ever let you feel forgotten.

-Expect him to fly by your office while you’re in a meeting because he does it so often that your co-workers place bets on when he’s going to pop by next.

- He’s definitely flown into the window before

-Aside from ambushing you at work, he’ll send different flowers to your office all the time with a little note attached explaining the meaning.

-He’s the type of husband who can read you like a book, you cannot get ANYTHING past this man.

“Babe I know you’re mad about me taking all of your left shoes and making you late to work”

“How the fuck-“

“I’ve interrogated class A villains for years, reading you is a walk in the park”

-No but for real it’s scary how quick he is to catch onto your feelings, it’s like a sixth sense. You could be having a bad day at work and suddenly:

Message from Kei❤️💍: Why don’t we go out for dinner tonight?

-Man his perceptive abilities are god tier.

-He’s the type of husband that quietly comforts you by letting you cry on his shoulder while he holds you. Hawks is great at smooth talking, but Keigo genuinely has no idea how to verbally comfort you.

-He feels like he can completely let go of the Hawks persona when he’s around you. He’s not “Pro-Hero Hawks” when he’s alone with you, he’s just regular Keigo.

-And he’s a very trusting husband because if he can let go of that persona and be vulnerable self around you, then he has no reason to have even the slightest bit of doubt.

-Oh you thought he was protective when he was your boyfriend? get ready for “mother hen Keigo” after the two of you get married.

-He has so many enemies and now that you’re his official other half he needs to increase your security- he would hate himself if he allowed you to get in harms way.

-Of course he knows you have boundaries- he would never want to make you feel overwhelmed. He’ll just ask the hero’s patrolling your area to report to him if there’s anything suspicious.

-Now that we’ve gone over what he’s like as a husband, let’s talk about the process of moving in with him.

-Let’s be honest, he won’t feel confident enough to ask you to move in with him until you’ve been together for at least 4-5 years.

-He needs to know that you’re here to stay before taking such a big step with you. Don’t be surprised that he’s asking you to move in with him on the day he proposes.

-Hawks lives a fast paced life, never having someone who stuck around for more than a few years. He’s hesitant to propose because in the back of his mind he fears you’ll leave him too.

-Once you say yes and agree to move in with him, he starts to panic a little.

-His penthouse apartment feels so empty because he’s never had the time or patience to even personalize it- he’s always busy working, why should he care?

-The logical side of his brain makes him realize that the two of you will make it feel like a real home.

-Once the day came around he helped pack all your belongings and he just marveled at all your interests- civilians had the free time to have interests whereas he barely had the time to rest.

-He packs each of your belongings with care after analyzing each piece. You end up bonking him on the head because what the hell is taking so long?

-After all of your things are put away in your new shared home, he can’t help but grin a little bit. He was finally experiencing what a home is supposed to feel like.

-The first few months you need to stop him from buying ridiculous things.

“Keigo what the hell?! I said no stupid purchases!”

“An inflatable banana pool floater is not a stupid purchase”

-He has a nasty habit of throwing his dirty hero costume on your favourite rug whenever he gets home.

“Babe I’m sorry, I’ll stop doing it”

“You said that yesterday, and the day before!”

-Whenever he’s exhausted he’ll flop on top of you and ask you to rub the tender spots around his wings.

-Good luck getting him off you if he falls asleep while you rub his back, man sleeps like a damn boulder.

-You have to teach him how to make nutritious meals because this man will literally eat anything so long as it’s quick. As a hero he rarely has time to eat, so cooking good food is completely off the table for him.

-You end up cooking him filling lunches/dinners for him whenever he goes on patrol. He always gives you a sweet kiss as a thank you.

“The meals don’t taste as good whenever I leave without giving you a goodbye kiss”

-He’s actually got a habit of stroking your cheek whenever he gets home from patrol and you’re already asleep.

-Sometimes he forgets his wings are huge obstacles so don’t be surprised if he whacks you with them by accident. Asshole thinks it’s funny when you squeal.

-Nobody can say he doesn’t have a habit of texting you cute photos of dogs he sees while on patrol.

-He’s slowly working out of his habit of suddenly slipping away whenever you try to sneak hug him. His childhood trauma makes him react like that.

-He has the cutest habit of nuzzling your jaw with his nose before he flys off for work. Also has a habit of touching your waist when he passes by you

-The two of you will always cook breakfast together- no if’s, ands or buts.

-It’s one of your favourite domestic things to do with each other and it makes him feel like a normal couple.

-When he comes home from a rough day he immediately searches for you and gives you a “I’m back” kiss- no matter how bruised and battered he is, he’ll always give you a kiss when he returns home.

-When he gets into bed with you he’ll rest his head on your chest and listen to your heart beat, it reminds him that all of this is real and that you’re not just a figment of his imagination

-Patching him up and then kissing his wounds has become another daily ritual for the two of you- even if it’s just a pesky paper cut. He does the exact same for you.

-No matter what, the two of you always make time to talk about your day over coffee or tea. again, it makes Keigo feel like he’s in a normal relationship

-Call me boring for this one but cleaning up after dinner is a daily ritual for the two of you. He’ll fling soap bubbles at you and laugh as you chase him around and try to give him a soap beard.

-Listen, Keigo just wants to feel like a normal person. Doing normal household chores with you makes him so happy.

Hawks is a very loving husband who would die a thousand deaths for you. He’s not perfect but then again, no one is perfect.

He’s a filthy tease and a prankster but he’s one protective bastard that loves you to the moon and back.

10/10 would marry Hawks any day

[disasterofastory]

Spring (Ivar x Reader)

Spring modern!Ivar x Reader Warnings: smut

We decided to deep-clean and declutter our entire apartment, can’t be too embarrassing what we find, right? - from THIS prompt list

Spring is your favorite season. The weather gets better, you can change your winter clothes, and you can buy fresh flowers to decorate the small flat you live in with your housemate, Ivar. The sun is already up when you go to work and still shines when you go home after a long day. For you, this is the season you can start with a new page and not New Year as for the others. The first thing you do when the spring comes is deep-clean the entire house. You wash down the windows, move the furniture to clean under them and declutter everything you do not need anymore. When you are done, the whole apartment is clean and smells good.

Ivar loves it.

But he hates it if he has to help you.

“Your room is the next,” you tell him, placing your hand on your hip. You look around the kitchen and living room with a satisfied but tired sigh. Everything is in order, and you love the feeling you get from it. You changed the pillowcases, vacuumed the couch and everything you could after you scrubbed down the whole kitchen. The air smells like furniture cleaner with a pine scent in it. “We don’t have to,” he tells you, standing up from the sofa. “I can do it myself.” “Don’t be silly. I can help,” you smile. “It will be faster.” “Y/N! Seriously, I don’t need your help.” “I know you don’t need it, but I’m glad to help,” you answer stubbornly, moving into his room. He follows you with an annoyed sigh. His dark hair is tied in a bun, and his green shirt and sweatpants are dusty from cleaning. You open the window to let in some fresh air and go to his wardrobe while he sits down on his bed. “Y/N…” Ivar starts again, but you don’t let him argue anymore. “Sort out the clothes you need,” you tell him, and he has no other choice but obey.

Living with Ivar is much easier than a few years ago. When you moved in, he was rude and avoided you. You had to be stubborn and shameless to accept you as his friend. Since then, you met his family, you even celebrated a few holidays with him, and you were there for him when he broke up with Freydis. You know his moodiness and his sometimes spiteful nature, and you learned to handle it.

“I can’t believe it. It’s Sunday, and I have to clean,” he grunts, moving to his bookshelf to continue the work. “You can rest the whole week next week. We don’t work, remember?” You can smell his cologne, putting down the used sheets to wash it later. “We should turn the mattress over,” you tell him, leaning down to grab it. “Y/N! Wait! No!” He yells, but it’s too late. At first, you don’t even know why he is so upset about it and what do you hold in your hands. Then you look at it better. It’s lacy and red. And it’s yours. You open your mouth to say something, but you can’t utter a word out. “Get out!” Ivar shouts at you. His face is red from anger and embarrassment. “Leave!”

You run out of his room with your panties between your hands. His door bangs loudly behind you, and you jump from the noise. You move back to your room, closing the door before you sit down on the bed. Your head is full of thoughts. You are afraid to think why it was in his room, but at the same time, it makes you… excited. With a heavy sigh, you fall back on your pillows, staring up to the ceiling.

The next week is hard. Ivar avoids you, and you avoid him too. The only way you know he is home because you hear his crutches outside your room. You imagine a million and one conversations with him, but you are not brave enough to make the first move. You know he is angry, embarrassed, and humiliated, but you are those things too! What if the only way to solve this to move out? Is your friendship over? Does he never want to talk with you again? It’s ridiculous that you are the one who feels bad when he is the pervert.

But…

You are a pervert too.

You imagined him laying on his bed with your panties in his hands, while with his other hand he… Yeah, you are in big trouble.

You spend your days in your room, till one morning you have enough of this. If it depends on Ivar, you two will never talk again. Still, in your pajamas with newfound bravery, you march over to his room without knocking. He jumps on his bed when you burst into the room and stare at him angrily. “Now what?” You ask him. “How long do you play this nonsense? You want me to move out?”

You are furious, but not because of the panties. And you feel like an idiot because of it. You are furious because you can lose Ivar. Yes, it's hard to deal with Ivar sometimes. He can be moody and angry for nothing, but at the same time, he can be attentive if he wants to. He always lets you watch your favorite series even if he wants to watch something else. He makes you coffee and breakfast if he knows you have to wake up early. Your whole relationship is about taking care of each other, even if it's hard at times.

“Y/N,” he says, you know he is suffering under your waiting gaze. “I don’t know what you are waiting for from me. I don’t know how I could make this right.” “An explanation, for example.” “I didn’t plan it,” he starts. “I helped you clean your room the other day, and before I knew it, I… stole your panties. I didn’t do anything with it, I promise! I wanted to bring it back, but you walked up and down in the house the whole day, and I couldn’t.” “But why?” You ask him, calmer this time. You sit down on his bed next to him. He still looks at you like a deer in the headlights. His hair is messy, and his face is flushed. “I…” he starts, licking his dry lips. “I love you, okay? I just didn’t know how to tell you, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but I ruined it anyway, didn’t I?” “No,” you answer. “It was worst that I had to avoid you all week than… the panties.” “Please, tell me how I could make it right, and I will do it,” he begs you, placing his hand on yours, squeezing it. He can’t even look into your eyes as you stare at him, thinking.

He loves you…

“I tell you something,” you decide. “But you have to promise me whatever happens, you won’t get angry, and you won’t avoid me. You have to learn to communicate with me even if it’s hard or embarrassing.” “I promise,” he nods repeatedly. You lick your lips, before with a determined sigh, you lean closer to his ear. You support yourself on his bare chest, so you feel his heartbeat speeds up at your touch. “I imagined you several times this week,” you confess. Your voice is almost a whisper. “What?” He asks you, confused but intrigued. You feel powerful with the knowledge he loves you, and you want to enjoy this opportunity because you know Ivar. He can’t be long without control. “I imagined you, laying on this bed,” you start. “And jerking off with my panties around your cock.” You see his Adam’s apple jumping as he gulps with a quiet squeak. You almost laugh at his expression. He really looks like a deer in the headlight with his blue eyes and open mouth. “What?” He repeats it breathlessly. “Don’t say you didn’t imagine it,” you say, still smiling. “Don’t say you didn’t want to play with it while you touch yourself. You didn’t imagine me wearing it with the matching bra while I moan your name?” “Don’t play with me,” he begs. He still can’t believe it's really happening. The woman he loves is almost on top of him, telling him things to get him aroused.

He loves you for a long time now. At first, it started as a crush while he was with Freydis. He found your perfume sweet, and he always liked your laugh. His feelings grew and grew till he couldn't deny them anymore. He broke up with Freydis, but he never had enough bravery to confess his love for you. And he definitely never imagined it like this.

“I don’t,” you promise him more seriously, caressing his blushed cheek. “I can’t think of anyone else but you, since the… you know, panties-incident.” “Oh, Gods!” He closes his eyes, cringing. “Can you not tell it like this again?” “Oh, come on!” You laugh. “I want to see it.” “See what?” He asks you. “Touching yourself with my panties around you,” you confess, biting your lip. Ivar stares into your eyes for a few seconds, thinking you joke with him, but when he sees you are serious, he gulps and nods. “Give me what you wear,” he orders you, and you almost squeal from happiness. You already feel damp between your legs as you stand up to take off your clothes. You try to lengthen the process and give him a show as you take off your pajamas and finally your panties. You see his hand shaking as he reaches out for it, and you let him take it. You climb above his knees carefully. Your legs spread a little, enough for him to see your wetness while you watch him pushing down his grey pants to free himself.

His whole body shakes from excitement. You are his dream girl, and now you are here above him, naked and waiting.

He places your black laced panties around his erection, and you moan just from the sight. His breath gets heavier and heavier as he moves his hand up and down on his shaft. His muscles tense on his stomach and his arms flex from his movements. “Play with yourself,” he says huskily. His blue eyes stare at your naked form. You reach down between your legs and give him a show, circling your waist as your fingers move. With your other hand, you start to massage one of your breasts, and the only reason you don’t close your eyes from the pleasure because you can’t look away from Ivar’s member. He is hard and ready. Your panties move up and down under his touch. After a few minutes like this, you lean down to his cock and start to jerk him off yourself before you take him in your mouth. He is warm, and your eyes almost roll back to your head at the feeling. Your ears ring from his hoarse moans, and you speed up your pace to hear it again. He grabs your hair, your scalp burns as he pushes you down on him more till he hits your throat. “Gods, Y/N!” He shouts in ecstasy. You look up at him under your eyelashes. “Come here,” he orders. You move up to him, paying attention to his legs. One of his arms goes around your back to pull you closer to him while the other one grabs your breast to his mouth. He licks and bites your nipple to his heart content and moves his hand down to your pussy. You massage his scalp as you try to stay in place, but you can’t stay like this any longer, and he knows it. “Ride me,” he says, letting you go. You move above his manhood and slowly sink down on him. You both moan at the feeling, and for a few minutes, neither of you move. He enjoys your warm tightness while you try to memorize the fullness you feel in yourself. “You are beautiful,” he sighs, staring at you. His foggy eyes jump from your eyes to your moaning mouth and down on your whole body, and he stops on your joined parts.

He knows he can never forget this sight and feeling. You look beautiful above him and around him. Your hair is disheveled, and your eyes shine with pleasure. Your thighs flex as you move, and your breasts jump up and down with your rhythm. He feels your weight on his chest as you lean on him. His skin is red in the wake of your nails.

“I love you,” he says between two grunts, grabbing your hips. “I love you too,” you moan, leaning more on him to kiss his lips for the first time. The kiss is messy as you still move up and down on him but enough for him to cum. You move back up to your original position, reaching down between your legs to speed up your pleasure. Your whole body is shaking and tingling as you lay down next to Ivar with his help. “You meant it?” He asks you softly, cuddling you to his body while you caress his chest after a few minutes. “That you love me?” “Yes,” you smile at him. “I really love you.” “I love you too.”

[mortifyingideal]

adjective issues Crowley’s flat was… well, there was no two ways about it. It was horrendous. Aziraphale knew his own tendencies when it came to interior decor erred on the cluttered side of things, and there were obvious and already-experienced hazards that came with living in what amounted to a pile of kindling, but this polar opposite lifestyle of Crowley’s really was taking the cake. He wasn’t entirely against Brutalism as an aesthetic— how could he be, when it had led to the Barbican’s creation? There was a sort of passion to be found in such ascetic architecture. Crowley’s flat held no such passion, however. It held no such anything, as far as Aziraphale could tell. A bed, the plant room, the ridiculous throne room with its marble slab desk and wall-mounted television at such a bizarre angle Aziraphale didn’t understand how Crowley had avoided a permanent crick in that serpentine neck. This was, in Aziraphale’s explorations of the space, the sum total of Crowley’s belongings. All the other rooms were barren, concrete and slick flooring with nary a sign of life to contrast the raw building materials and turn them into something beautiful.

It was, to put it lightly, completely insane.

Aziraphale tried his best to approach the subject with some grace that evening, but had been a little distracted from pursuing the topic entirely due to their impending doom. 

“Well, you certainly have lots of space here, don’t you!” Aziraphale had said. 

“I think the wisely part is a dig, somehow. The old witch mocking us from the great beyond. If she’s so clever, how come she’s dead, that’s what I want to know,” Crowley had replied, and that had been that. 

He’d been reluctant to bring it up again, and really there was no reason to now. The bookshop was back. They’d won. Life carried on as normal. Aziraphale didn’t need to go to Crowley’s flat, because Crowley was always at the shop. Only… Crowley seemed to like his creature comforts. Certainly seemed to like Aziraphale’s, anyway. Storing endless leftovers from their meals together in Aziraphale’s fridge, stretching out to his full length on Aziraphale’s tatty sofa, even commandeering Aziraphale’s bathtub for a week once in the lead up to a shed. The angel had taken all of this in his stride, happy to provide a space where Crowley felt safe to use what he needed. Then, Crowley had started making suggestions. Leaving little hints around the place.

IKEA magazines appeared with furniture items circled in red pen. Aziraphale would turn on his computer and find his browser open with several MADE.COM tabs left open. Nothing was being purchased, not even added to the basket, but Crowley’s intent was clear. Aziraphale’s things were not up to his exacting standards, and this was the demon’s not-so-subtle way of letting him know. Things came to a rather tumultuous head when Aziraphale was confronted with a woman on his doorstep claiming to be a personal home stylist who just wanted to pop in and see what she could do with the space, and he should have warned her about the whole wood-and-dust vibe happening because they’d seriously have to rethink their entire colour scheme if this was what she was working with. He transported her somewhere far, far away, and stormed upstairs to confront Crowley.

“Demon!” Aziraphale roared, kicking open the bathroom door.

“Angel,” Crowley replied, quickly batting away the horns he’d made for himself out of bubbles.

“If you take issue with my furnishings, I’d rather have you tell me to my face,” he said, crossing his arms firmly. “You’re not usually half so sneaky when insulting my taste. Out with it. What’s brought all this on?”

Crowley, to Aziraphale’s surprise, flushed a little. “Notice that, did you?”

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. “I may be a little slow on the uptake, but it’s rather difficult to ignore when some young woman who fancies herself Ray Eames asks me my opinion on perspex.”

“She wasn’t supposed to arrive until this afternoon,” Crowley said, sinking into the water. “I was going to chat to you about it before then. It’s not for you, anyway. Don’t want you to get rid of your stuff. You love your stuff, I love your stuff. This would be for me.”

“I’ve seen how you live, Crowley. You’ve never seemed bothered about owning household ephemera before,” Aziraphale sighed, moving to perch on the lip of the tub. “And why drag me into all of this? Why leave all these things out where I might see them? Are you— did you want me to buy you gifts?” 

“No! Not gifts, I mean, if you were feeling generous, I wouldn’t say no but. I was going to pay you back,” Crowley said. “It’s just… embarrassing, alright?”

“Wanting me to spoil you is not embarrassing, Crowley. I just want to know why you felt like you couldn’t talk to me about all this.”

“You’re going to be insufferable about it,” Crowley pouted.

“I promise you, I won’t be insufferable. I will endeavour to be sufferable about it at most,” Aziraphale grinned.

But an angel could hardly be blamed for immediately breaking his promise in the face of an explanation from a demon who was mortified at the prospect of buying anything known as household goods.

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife For Thor Pt.01

10/12/2020

Arrivals and Departures

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 6,990

Warnings: language, talks of death, angst, talks of sex,

A/N: This is seriously...I mean, I don’t even know where this came from. Credits to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ because Roo gave me the idea and I kinda ran with it. Like omg, y’all. Blame Roo. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo Dialogue from Thor Ragnarok has been used in the beginning of this story.

Please do not REPOST my stories anywhere. Reblogs are most welcome!

He stands with his arms crossed in what appears to be a small sitting room with a large window that opens to the sublime sight of the black space beyond. Sterling silver, radiant red, and brilliant blue stars twinkle into infinity.

This is a sight that Thor had seen many times before and yet, for the first time in an age, he felt hopeful for the future.

His fight had ended. With Ragnarok, his journey had reached an end. Not the end, but certainly that of a chapter I which his battles might rest.

He imagines that this might be how his father felt when he had taken charge of the nine realms.

However violent that takeover might have been, his father had lied about many things—his sister for one—it had been the beginning of a quieter reign. A new formative time for his father. He may not have been a perfect man, but he’d grown wiser in many ways. Still not the best father, but his father, nonetheless.

Thor can almost picture his life on Earth, a time of peace. A time to rebuild. He will be able to give his people a good life there and he’s certain that his friends will appreciate having him closer. Friends from work they may be, but friends.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to go back to Earth?” Loki asks, standing beside him with his hands held gently at his front.

Thor looks at him, waiting a moment to allow him to finish speaking.

“Yes, of course.” Thor assures him. “The people of Earth love me. I’m very popular.”

Loki takes a breath, looking out the window as he quickly accepts his brother’s reasoning while simultaneously realizing he must word this differently to get his point across.

“Let me rephrase that.” Loki begins, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to bring me back to Earth?”

Thor knows that Loki has a point. His history with Earth is…not perfect. To say the least.

“Probably not, to be honest.” He admits, noting Loki’s apprehension.

Loki smiles, a little knowing.

“I wouldn’t worry, brother.” Thor tells him, both turning back to the void outside. “I feel like everything’s going to work out fine.”

The moment seems endless, the two of them waiting as if the something should or might happen after Thor’s optimistic sentiments.

Then the moment passes and Loki sighs.

“Right, well, I’ll start rounding up the people who will be of the most use once we arrive.”

Thor gives his brother one parting smile but doesn’t watch him leave.

Thor doesn’t know exactly what has changed in him, what makes him so confident in this decision, but he knows it’s the best decision he could have made. And if he’s honest, though he’d never admit it out loud, the possibility of finally being on the same planet as Jane…well, he’d be a fool not to consider the possibilities.

~~~~~~~~~~

Something feels different today.

As you wake, turning onto your side to stare across the small room at the blinking line on the blank word document on your computer screen, you can’t quite put your finger on what is making you nervous.

Your stomach is rolling, making you queasy, despite the fact that you have no reason to be anxious.

Yesterday was like the day before and today will be just like yesterday. Nothing in your life ever changes, and that’s become so much of who you are that whenever you have even a doctor’s appointment your heart begins to race in dreaded anticipation.

With trembling hands you clutch your blanket, trying to find a reason behind this mood. Your breath quickens as your heart panics, your mind scrambling to make sense of these emotions but nothing comes to mind.

So, you get out of bed. You get dressed choosing a simple knee length black dress that fits loose enough to keep you comfortable throughout the day. Then you head into the kitchen and start the coffee pot.

Halfway through the brew you shut the machine off and rush to dump out its contents into the sink.

“Fuck.”

You sigh, realizing you should really invest in decaf coffee for morning just like this.

“Tea. Tea is better.” You rationalize and pull your kettle off the warmer and fill it in the sink.

You replace it in its dock then turn your back to it, hands gripping the edge of the counter as you lean against it.

Your fingers stroke the smooth and unvarnished wooden countertop, suddenly going rigid around the lip as your heart goes frantic again.

The island counter directly in front of you is made of the same unvarnished wood, a slightly mismatched chair on the other side, tucked in beside the open shelving that holds your pots and pans. Along the center of the island sits a small vase with nearly completely withered flowers.

You’re filled with relief as your hands are given new task and you hurry forward and take the clear glass vase, toss the flowers—which crumble as they hit yesterday’s empty cereal box—dump the water in the sink and quickly refill it.

Setting the vase aside, you pull open a drawer and pluck from an array of contents a small packet of flower food, a pair of small pruners, a long piece of twine, and head out the back door to your modest backyard.

There isn’t much in it, and it’s unfenced. A large tree at the back-left corner provides shade and pecans. In the center of the yard sits a set of antique iron work garden furniture. Twisted and shaped into what reminds you of lace. Two smaller chairs and one long bench with curved backs.

You’ve been of a mind to buy cushions for them, but you haven’t found an excuse to justify the expense.

In between the garden set sits an outdoor coffee table made of wood and painted white. It’s fading and will need a new coat soon but again the expense can wait. At least until you sell another story.

Apart from this set and a small wooden shed beside the pecan tree, your yard is mostly overgrown grass and carefully cultivated flowers lining the length of your narrow back porch.

You smile, noticing the length of your grass, grateful for another something to keep you busy today. Something to keep your mind off this mysterious and anxious premonition of something to come.

Quickly you move to a large blooming bush at the end of your porch and cut from it several bunches of pink and blue garden phlox.

You admire the shade of the blue flowers. The color reminds you a pair of blue eyes you’d once seen on a woman who’d come to your school as a child.

She’d been beautiful and kind, but she hadn’t picked you. Still, you’d never forgotten the color of her eyes.

The pink is pastel at the edges of its petals and vibrant magenta at the center.

As you head back in, the kettle only barely beginning to steam, you quickly arrange the bunches you’ve picked and wrap them up with the twine. You set the bushel aside and with the vase pulled close, you tear the packet of flower food with your teeth and pour it in.

Replacing the flowers, you give the kettle one more look before you race back into your bedroom to pick out a more appropriate outfit for cutting the grass.

You decide on a pair of jeans and a plain yellow t-shirt. Pulling them on, you pause with your shirt hooked around your arms as your eyes find your laptop screen, annoyingly black still.

With a groan you pull your shirt on and from the kitchen you hear the whistle.

Breakfast is simple. A store-bought muffin and a cup of breakfast tea do the trick and while you’re still chewing your last bite you head out to cut your grass.

It doesn’t take you too long and you lament the last bit as you cut it, the machine vibrating violently in your nervous grip.

No matter how much you try to distract yourself, this feeling of something terrible coming will not go away and you’re about to go out of your mind when a shout from your back door pulls your mind from it.

Standing there is an older man with an unconventionally handsome face. His lips are thin, cheekbones prominent, brown eyes sunken, and his nose long and defined. His dark hair slicked and parted, neatly kept to match his crisp navy suit.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed?” You shout at him as the whirr of the machine dies into silence.

The man moves towards you, a smile brightening his face.

“I was just at a meeting.” He explains.

“Do you ever stop working?” You wonder, pushing the lawn mower towards the shed as he follows.

“Only when I’m on vacation.” He tells you, amusement in his voice but subdued and you only hear it because you’ve known him for years.

“You don’t take vacations.” You sputter, almost laughing.

“Precisely.” He agrees.

He waits for you to shut the door and when you turn, he greets you with open arms.

“How have you been?” He asks, holding the hug for longer than you’re used to which only adds to the anxiety you’ve been feeling all morning.

What’s going on?!

“Hey, you okay?” You ask him, ignoring his question in favor of satisfying your curiosity.

He doesn’t answer but holds the hug a moment longer before pulling back to look at you.

“We have to talk.” He tells you, making your heart pound.

“Okay. You want some breakfast?” You offer, and swallow hard as your fear mounts.

“Sure.” He says and follows you inside.

You make him a full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, breakfast sausage, and buttered toast with a cup of coffee. Just because you can’t stand the idea of being hyped up on caffeine today doesn’t mean David won’t.

He digs right in while you stand on the other side of the island, sipping on your second cup of tea in hopes that it will ease your frayed nerves.

For a few minutes he gobbles down your food but when you shift on your feet for the fourth time, he clears his throat, takes a drink of his coffee, then puts his fork down.

“It’s not exactly bad news.” He assures you, easing you a little but something tells you that you still won’t like it.

“Just tell me, David.”

“As your lawyer,” He begins, sitting back in your old wobbly chair. “It’s my duty to inform you when there are developments with your family’s estate.”

“Right.” You agree, remembering the day he’d found you when you’d turned eighteen to tell you that you weren’t exactly as poor as you’d thought.

You’re not really rich either. You have a little money that your parents set aside for you. Old money that you hadn’t really touched. You use it mostly for bills when you can’t sell a story fast enough and most of your wealth is in this cottage. A family home that you’d had no idea was yours until David brought you here.

Finally, a home, after living in that school all those years.

“Well, I think it might be time to reveal a little more of that estate’s history.”

“Why?” You put down the floral porcelain cup and wrap your arms around yourself, afraid of what he’ll say.

How did you know that something was coming? What kind of sixth sense do you have?!

“After all this time, why would it matter?” You sigh, moving to pull out the second chair to his right on the shorter end of the island.

“Don’t panic.” He tells you, reaching over to place his hand over yours. “Let’s keep our heads. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“You say that, but why do I feel like that’s not exactly true?” You sigh.

He blinks, gathering his thoughts before he nods.

“I think I’ll tell you all at once. Like ripping a band-aid. Might be the easiest for you.” He realizes.

You don’t disagree.

“Your family comes from a very small people in Europe. Their origins are hard to trace but we know that they travelled between France, Norway, Denmark, Romania, Belgium, Sweden, Austria, Greece, and even spent a large amount of time in hiding in the United Kingdom.”

“I get it, they were nomads.” You sigh, your mood taking a turn from the anticipation of clarity.

“Yes. Nomads.” David agrees, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. “I only mention it because there are many questions as to where they had originated from. No one seems to know. Unfortunately, I don’t think that question will ever be answered as all records before their stint in France have been lost.

“What we do know is that your ancestors, your bloodline are royalty.” David says, as easily as if he were telling you your age. “Even though the titles have long since been lost, you are technically—though you have no country to rule over—a princess.”

Slowly his words sink in and your face begins to relax. You look down at his hand over yours and without warning you laugh once. Then again, and again, until you’re leaning on your chair, head thrown back as your whole body shakes with it.

“What is so funny?” David asks, unamused but he goes back to eating.

“This is a joke, right? You’re pulling my leg.” You gasp, breath shallow.

“Not one little bit.” He shakes his head. “If we knew what country your ancestors came from, you would very much be in some palace or castle, reigning over your people. Your parents, were they alive, would have been King and Queen.

“You may not think it possible, but that is your legacy, Y/N. You are of royal blood.” David insists which sobers you a little, but you think it’s so silly that this is what you’d been so scared of.

This is what you’d been dreading?

“Okay. Fine. I believe you. But what does it matter? You said that if I still had a country then I would be princess, but clearly, I don’t. So, I’m not. What’s the point of telling me this when it makes absolutely no difference to my life?

“I don’t feel any different and it’s not like that makes me any richer? I’m still sitting on a decently sized fortune to assure that I don’t want for anything at least until my forties. What could this possibly change that you felt it necessary to tell me?”

David wipes his mouth with his napkin, finishing up the last bit of his coffee before he gets up and with his dirty plates moves towards the sink.

“Leave it, David. I’ll clean up later.” You watch him, sitting up a little straighter as that anxious feeling begins to grow again with his extended silence.

He washes the plate and as he does, your nerves begin to fray again. You anxiously pick at a small splinter in your island, waiting for him to speak.

He turns towards you as he finished washing his plate, then meets your eyes.

“You weren’t just revealing my heritage, were you?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I felt I needed to reveal your heritage because someone has reached out with the hopes of setting up a meeting with you.”

“Why would anyone wanna meet with me simply because they know of my lineage?” You wonder, slouched, hands moved to your lap to rest limply as you stare at David, fear increasing with every moment that passes.

“May I ask you a personal question?” He says, moving to stand closer as he dries his hand on your dishtowel.

“David, you know everything about me.” You sigh.

“Why haven’t you ever had a boyfriend? Or girlfriend? I’m not sure I’ve ever asked if you-?”

“To be honest, I don’t know either.” You shrug. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Not even as a child?” He wonders.

“I was too busy wishing for parents as a kid.” You clarify. “I didn’t have time for crushes or any of that stuff.”

“Are you opposed to a relationship?” David asks, dropping the towel then moving around to sit back down in his seat.

“Opposed?” You ask, shaking your head. “Not exactly opposed. I’ve just never known anyone worth caring about like that. I’m mainly here at home. I do go into town when I need to get my packages but there isn’t anyone there that…I don’t draw attention like that.”

“You’re a pretty girl.” David tells you, reaching over to tug on your sleeve. “When you aren’t sweaty and covered in grass clippings.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“It’s not something I really worry about.” You admit.

“Would you ever want to get married?” David asks, and your heart is suddenly pounding.

The idea of being someone’s wife had crossed your mind once or twice. Mostly when you’d been jotting down ideas or plotlines for your books. In the end, because you didn’t think you had enough insight, you’d opted to remove all romance. You write mysteries.

“I don’t know that I’d be any good at it.” You confess. “I’m not…I can’t exactly picture myself being someone’s wife.”

“Why not?”

“Because I…I don’t even know what I’d be like in a relationship, sharing space and time, much less sharing an entire life?” You shake your head. “I’m not saying that I haven’t thought about it but it’s only ever been in passing.”

David goes silent, tapping his index finger against the island.

“David, please. You know I can’t take the suspense.” You plead.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He nods then reminds himself, “Band-aid.”

You take a deep breath and turn to face him a little more in your seat.

“Well, you are aware of our planet’s newest inhabitants?”

“Th-The Asgardians in Norway?”

“Yes.” David nods. “Well, as a sign of good faith, to ensure that they will abide by Earth’s laws and to assuage any ideas from panicked world leaders that they might try and overtake the planet and make it their own, they have decided that marriage to someone from Earth might be the best way to do that.

“The Asgardian known as Brunnhilde has reached out to all families of royal blood and asked to meet with any eligible women, preferably—as she so tactfully put it—maidens.” He explains. “Which I take it you are?”

You swallow hard, your lungs rubbed of oxygen and yet you somehow manage to quietly acknowledge, “Yes. I’m a virgin.”

How can you not be after spending your whole life unconcerned with romance?

“You don’t have to do it, Y/N.” David suddenly says; however, you can see the ‘but’ in his eyes. “But if you don’t and the Asgardian king cannot choose from the women he does meet, you will probably be hunted down and forced to meet with him anyway.

“All world leaders are in agreement that this is the correct and only way to ensure the safety of the planet. They will not give up until every woman meeting the Asgardian’s requirements have been given the chance to meet with Thor.”

“Thor?!” You gasp, rising to your feet as hundreds if not thousands of images flash through your mind of the Thunder God and the Avengers fighting side by side.

“Yes.” David affirms, rising to his feet with you. “With the death of his father, he is now King of Asgard.”

Of course, Thor is going to be King. You already knew this. It’s common sense.

For some reason though, the confirmation made out loud, vocally…how the fuck are you supposed to marry Thor? An Avenger? That’s not…this cannot be real life!

“David,” You begin, apprehensive.

“I know. I know it is a lot to ask but as I said, I don’t believe we have much of a choice. He might very well not pick you.” David adds, rushing to comfort you and point out how unlikely you’d be the one Thor chooses to wed. “There are plenty of other women that he’s already met with. Women that are more suited to life in a palace than you are. The Hungarian princess is so eager to be Queen of Asgard that she’s been sending the other women bribes to try and convince them to refuse.

“It won’t make a difference, since they cannot refuse should Thor choose them.” David admits.

“A-all I have to do is meet with him?” You stutter, heart in your throat.

“Just a quick one-hour meeting. He’ll ask you questions. Get to know a bit about you. See if you are suited for life as Asgardian queen and then it’s over.” David assures you.

“I’m…There are lots of other women better for it, right?”

“Loads of them.” David promises.

New fears begin to take hold in your heart and mind.

It conjures up the last time you’d seen Thor, strutting from a massive spaceship docked over the ocean by New Asgard. He’d risen from its depths all wide shoulders and biceps. Heavy steps thudding as he’d stopped at the end of the massive ramp, waving at the cameras as his people had filed out behind him.

His hair cropped short as opposed to the long tresses he’d had when he’d last been on Earth, one eye missing with a sleek black and gold metal patch over it the absence.

You’ve never been threatened by him before. He’s a hero. But the prospect of being his wife and having wifely duties...

Your mind flies into panic as it shifts that large body over you, crawling towards you with his hands prying your legs open. The years of sexual experience radiating off of this fantasy Thor and all of his bulging muscles.

You almost want to throw up at the prospect of having to consummate a marriage. You haven’t exactly been eager to be with anyone since you haven’t met anyone special, but you’d at least imagined something more intimate. More personal.

“David I-they won’t choose me though, right?” You reach out for him because your legs are suddenly weak.

He takes hold of your arms and helps you stand still.

“They won’t.” He tells you, sounding convinced. “There are better candidates. Women with actual titles.”

He’s right. Of course, he’s right. He has to be right.

“It’s just a quick meeting.” He promises. “Then it’ll all be over, and you can come back to your cottage and live just as you have been, with no one to bother you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Leaving your little place is difficult. After spending years without a home to call your own, now that you have your cottage, tearing yourself away from it is like pulling splinters.

You like your little yard. You like your flowers. You love your bed and its white sheets, little pink and yellow flowers printed on the soft fabric.

You’d made it more feminine. You’d brought flowers back and frills and lace. You’d made it everything you thought a cottage at the edge of a wood should look like and as time had gone by you’d brought in more personal touches.

After several years, your home is finally completely you.

This place, this massive Asgardian structure is less gold and more wood, stone, and iron. Silver steel polished so bright it gleams even in moonlight. This place is not you. It’s him. It’s Thor. His home.

Right now, with the day almost over, the palace takes on a warmer tone. The wooden structures and gray stone pillars are bathed in orange light, giving the place a pleasant glow and despite yourself, you can almost picture Thor meandering through these Nordic halls, a long crimson robe around his thick form.

It isn’t an unpleasant image now that you’ve given yourself some time to get used to the idea of him.

When you arrived you were greeted and seated in a large round room, the lower quarter of the sturdy walls made of ornate stone brick, the rest of the wall beautiful dark oak. The floor is also stone, massive carpets underneath several pieces of obviously Norse inspired furniture.

Well actually, the Norse was probably derived from Asgardian styles. There’s a difference in them that you can see but don’t understand. The coffee table in front of you has ornately carved legs, golden embellishments, and a black coat of paint.

The sofa you’re sitting on is mostly wood, painted gold, with plush and soft satin covered cushions in wine red.

There are two other tables around the room, a collection of books on one and an array of fruits, foods, and drinks on the other. There are several different statues and stands. Lamps that look as if they should have flames instead of the electric bulbs they now hold.

Small touches of modern design filter through the room complimenting the more traditional décor.

“Hello there.” Says a lilting voice.

You recognize it and turn to find Loki, slipping through a narrow opening in the large set of doors you’d been escorted through almost half an hour ago.

He’s dressed in a black suit with a plain white t-shirt underneath dressing the look down.

“H-Hi.” You stammer, surprised by his appearance.

You stand, knowing well that he may not be King but for Asgard, Loki is still a prince.

“No, please. Do not get up on my account.” He gestures at your seat and you settle back in as he crosses to the table with all the books. “I forgot some papers in here, I only came to retrieve them. Do not mind me.”

You avert your eyes, afraid to see something you shouldn’t and sit just as stiffly as before, hands fisting the royal purple dress you’d chosen to wear. It’s simple, quarter sleeves, high neckline with a small V at the center. Just above your knees in length, it rises as you grip it.

“Nervous to meet my brother?” Loki asks, stopping by the doors as he eyes your tight grip.

“This whole situation is a little stressful.” You admit. “I’m…I live in a small house in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Ah, you’re the one with the lost lineage.” Loki realizes, moving closer with interest. “A hidden princess. You could have refused to come, you know?”

“I would have been forced eventually.” You point out. “There are a lot of people who want this marriage thing to happen.”

“True.” Loki agrees, “My fault, I’m afraid. I make them nervous.”

“You did very nearly destroy New York.” You point out, remembering the carnage reported that day. The aftermath had taken forever to clean up.

“I did.” Loki agrees. “Do you fear me?”

“No.” You admit. “If you weren’t safe, Thor wouldn’t have brought you back here.”

“He could just be too trusting.”

“Maybe.” You agree. “But with the fate of his entire people tied to the successful acclimation of Asgard and Earth, if you were really a threat, I think he’d have cut you out before coming back.”

Loki’s lips slowly curl up into a smile before breaking apart into a toothy grin.

“What is your name again?” He asks, a sparkle of something in his eyes.

“Y/N.” You tell him. “Why?”

“No reason. This has been very illuminating, Y/N. It was lovely to meet you.” Loki says then with a quick bow of his head, he leaves you to your solitude.

Confused, you sit there completely at a loss for what just happened.

Had you taken too many liberties with Loki? What had that smile meant? You’d been made aware that Loki was also involved in recruiting women of royal blood into marriage meetings for Thor, but you hadn’t expected him to know you by the description of where you live.

Maybe because it’s so unlike anyone else’s?

You sit there stewing for another twenty minutes, wondering if maybe you’re being stood up when the large doors open once again.

You shoot up onto your feet, so damn nervous your body reacts without your permission. Through the door this time comes the man of the hour. The massive Thunder God dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a plain gray t-shirt crosses over to the table with food and pours himself a stein of what looks like beer from a sloshing brown pitcher.

“Estrid, is this from the new batch of ale?” He booms loud enough that he can be heard even outside of the room as he takes a quick sniff of the liquid.

His voice is so deep.

Licking your lips, you watch him drink the entire stein without taking a breath or waiting for an answer, and then refill it before grabbing it and taking an apple with his other hand.

He turns, holding the fruit up to his mouth and freezes with it pressed to his lips as he meets your eyes, realizing he isn’t alone.

You’re not exactly sure what to say or what to do, completely taken aback by this strange and sudden exposure to candid Thor. Both of you unprepared to see each other despite the fact that you’ve literally been waiting nearly an hour for him.

His confusion mounts as he lowers the apple, looking around as if expecting an explanation or to see if he’s in the correct room.

“What time is it?” He suddenly asks, meeting your gaze again.

“N-Nearly six.” You tell him, and his one good eye goes slightly wide.

“Oh!” His lips curl up into an easy smile. “I did not think it was that late.”

His smile makes you feel a little more at ease, but you’re still on edge.

“You’re my meeting.” He tells you, as if you don’t already know that. “Y/N? Y/L/N, right?”

“Yes.” You nod, then before you can stop yourself… “You’re late.”

Thor blinks. Startled it seems or maybe just surprised, but then he smiles again. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, you can be as late as you’d like. This is your meeting. Sorry. I didn’t…I don’t know why I said that.” You rush to say.

“No, no.” Thor turns to put down his stein of beer and the apple replaced in its bowl. “You’re right. I am late. We were supposed to meet at five, weren’t we?”

When he turns back to you, you nod.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you have much you could be doing.” Thor says, moving towards you and gesturing at the spot you’d been in before sitting down at the other end of the sofa.

“No.” You confess. “Not really. I’m actually one of the only people that probably doesn’t have much to do. Well, I mean, I could be writing. Or cleaning house.”

“They tell me that you had no knowledge about your lineage before Brunnhilde reached out to your lawyer?”

You nod. “It’s not really important. Or…no. That’s not the right-what I mean to say is that it isn’t significant to my life.”

“Don’t you want to know who your family is?” Thor wonders.

“I know who my family is. I had a mom. And a dad. Both died just after I was born. That’s my family.” You explain. “Apart from getting to meet you, the news that my family was once royalty doesn’t change it in any way. I’m still just as insignificant today as I was before.”

Thor narrows his brow, watching you for a long torturous moment as he considers what you’d just said.

“Tell me about yourself.” He suddenly says, turning to lean back against the arm, his own thrown over the back, right leg bent up onto the sofa.

“There isn’t much to tell.” You admit. “I was born, my parents died in an accident. I was taken to a school for orphans where I grew up and aged out. On the day I had to leave, Mr. Valis found me and gave me my inheritance which is a good amount of money and a small house. I’ve been living there ever since.”

“You didn’t take any additional schooling?” Thor asks, relaxing. “All the other young women I’ve met have made it a point to tell me about the universities and colleges they’ve attended.”

“I took a few correspondence classes.” You tell him, “But I’ve only ever wanted to write, and I didn’t feel that I needed a higher education to do it. I mean, it would probably look better on my resume, but my writing should speak for itself.”

You can’t really tell what he’s thinking with the way he’s watching you, his hand playing with a thread on the back of the sofa.

You take it as a good sign that many of the other women have a degree of some sort. They must want someone respectable with a good education, right?

“How do you feel about political marriages?” He asks, and you’re stunned for a moment.

“Um…”

“Be honest, please.”

“I guess I don’t like the idea?” You admit. “Being forced to marry someone you don’t love because duty demands it? Feels archaic. If you love someone, whether they fit into whatever political standards are being demanded or not should not be a reason to get married.”

Thor sits up, shifting a little closer as he leans towards you.

“If you were asked to go along with a political marriage in every way but the heart, could you?” He wonders, much more interested than before.

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused.

“Well, let’s say for example, you and I were to marry. We’d be expected to have children. You’d be bound to do your duties as Queen of Asgard, but you would not be required to love me. Would you be able to fulfill these requirements?”

“You don’t want to do this, do you?” You realize, seeing the eagerness in his eyes. His shoulders slump. “If you don’t want to get married, why don’t you just say something?”

“I must do what I can to ensure the future of my people.” Thor says, sighing deeply.

“I’m guessing there’s someone else you do love that you can’t marry?”

“Not that I can’t but won’t. She isn’t ready for marriage and I don’t feel right making that kind of demand from her when she clearly has other things she’d like to be doing with her life. And…yes, maybe a little bit can’t. A royal marriage would make the most sense. I need a Queen.” Thor says.

You can’t find the words to tell him how fucked up this all is so instead you sit in silence.

“I know this is not ideal. I’ve tried to find other ways of assuring Earth of my commitment to this planet but nothing I’ve suggested is good enough.”

He needs a Queen. This gives you solace. No one is less of a queen than you are.

“I’m sorry.” You finally tell him. “It’s not fair. But I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone who checks all those boxes for you. I hear the Hungarian princess is pretty eager.”

Thor ignores you, stroking his beard as he watches you. “What do you want from a marriage? Let us say it’s many years from now and you have found someone you love beyond all reason. You two decide to get married. What does that look like?”

You’re a little surprised by the question but you humor him and take a moment to really think about it.

The man you picture has no face. There is no one you care enough about to imagine. So…because he’s the only option, you take Thor’s face and give your imaginary husband a face.

“We’d be partners.” You tell him. “Open about everything important. We would respect each other’s individualities. If something is troubling me, I would like to know that I could turn to him and if he had something on his mind, I’d hope that he could turn to me too.

“We’d be honest about even the unpleasant aspects of our life together. If we disagreed, we would talk about it openly. We wouldn’t hide from each other. We’d spend as much time as we could together and always make time for each other.”

You picture Thor sitting at your island in your comfy cottage. He’s so massive that he’d take up so much space. You’d have to squeeze past him, and he’d turn to wrap his arms around your waist as you pass.

He’d trap you there, not letting you move.

“We’d make breakfast together. Cramped up in my little kitchen, it would turn into play.” You smile. “We’d lounge around the house, reading and listening to music. In the evenings we’d move out to the backyard and watch the sun set then watch the stars until I’d fall asleep on his shoulder.”

As if you’re caught doing something you shouldn’t be, you startle yourself out of your daydream and feel your neck heat up.

You’d crossed from rational marriage into sentimental and you’re a little shocked at the detail in which your mind has gone.

You’re also a little startled by the pleasant feeling that picturing Thor in those situations has given you.

For someone who has never had a crush, you’re startled by the butterflies it gives you.

“But I’ve never been into anyone like that before.” You tell him, looking away from his intense gaze. “So, even if that’s what I picture, it’s not like it’s ever gonna happen.”

“It might.” Thor says, sounding as if he might be trying to comfort you.

“It won’t.” You assure him. “I hope your girl changes her mind.”

There’s a bitter ache in your chest as you say it, and you’re certain it’s only there because of the little fantasy you just allowed yourself to have. You should have picture someone else.

“I hope they relax on the royal blood thing and let you marry someone you love instead.” You hope.

“You say that as if you already know that I won’t pick you.” Thor observes.

You smile wide, laughing even as you bite your lip. “Well, I’m nothing like the girls you’ve met with. I don’t have endless amounts of money. I don’t have a prestigious education or extensive family. I don’t know anything about being royalty. The others have been doing it their entire lives. I’m the least likely candidate. I don’t fit the requirements, except for the bloodline thing.

“I only agreed to meet with you because I knew that the likelihood of you picking me was almost non-existent.”

“Ouch.” Thor says.

“No!” You rush to say. “You’re very…I mean, you’re kind from what I can tell and honorable. You’ve saved Earth a couple times and you’re a little self-centered but only in a superficial way that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a good man.

“I honestly don’t know why your girl won’t marry you but I’m not right for this.” You nod. “I wouldn’t make a good Queen for you.”

Thor nods slowly, thinking for a minute before he straightens up and turns to rise, slapping his hands on his knees before he moves back towards the table of fruit and beer.

“You’re probably right.” He agrees, and for some reason, you’re disappointed.

Not so much that he isn’t picking you, but rather that he sees you aren’t enough. You’re lacking in some way. Which you already knew but…knowing he thinks that makes you feel a little lousy despite that being something you wanted.

“I suppose I’ll just have to pick someone more suitable. Someone who knows better about ruling a people. All the same, thank you for coming.” Thor says, dismissing you.

He picks up his stein again and turns to look at you as you rise.

“It was a pleasure to meet you.”

You nod, “Likewise.”

After a moment of hesitation, you give him a wave and move for the doors, trembling hands reaching out to yank the doors open and make your escape.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been weeks since you met with Thor and you’ve completely forgotten the whole thing. Life has gone back to normal and even though you now know that you’re from royal stock, nothing, as you expected, has changed.

The only plus that has risen from this whole situation is that you can now picture marriage a little better, however inexperienced and cliché it might be, you can make something up now.

Your little fling with the idea of Thor had given you fuel to slip a little romance into your writing and your fingers are flying across the keyboard of your laptop as you type up a new and promising mystery about a set of lovers and the body they discover in the attic of their new home.

You hate to be interrupted during a writing session, but you must have forgotten that about yourself because your phone starts to ring.

Normally you mute it before you even sit down to write.

With a growl you reach over and take a quick look at the number.

David flashes on your screen and quickly you swipe to answer.

“Hey, can I call you back in like an hour? I’m in the middle of a chapter and I’m on a roll.” You plead, fingers still flying across the keys.

“Y/N, Thor chose you.” David’s voice says and your fingers freeze.

There’s a pounding in your chest and your head is full of white fuzz. Your legs are numb, and your stomach is swirling with both flutters and nausea.

You can’t have heard that right.

“What?” You ask, voice shaky.

“Thor. He chose you. I just got off the phone with Brunnhilde and she wanted to let me know so that I could call you and let you know that she’ll be by tomorrow to pick you up.”

This can’t be happening.

“She said to pack only what you absolutely need. Everything else will be provided for you.”

“David…I…I can refuse, right? I don’t have to marry him.” You plead desperately.

“Y/N…” David sighs. “You agreed to this before you went to see him. I’m afraid the time to back out has come and gone.”

“But I can just not do it.” You argue. “They can’t force me to do it.”

“The government will seize your assets if you refuse.” David explains. “They want this done. I’m sorry, Y/N. There’s no backing out of this now.”

“But…But he loves someone else.” You tell him and even though your mind knows that this should be the last thing to concern you, it should not be the first reason you can think of why marrying Thor is a bad idea, it is.

As your eyes focus on the little blinking line of your word doc, your heart gives a painful ache knowing that your husband will be loving someone else.

[sainadazai]

Hello, I hope u're doing well!! For the drabble promt, 55 with Dazai, please <33

I'm doing good thx bb I like this prompt sm for dazai yay

Bad Day

Dazai had been feeling off all day long, not seeing you at work was the first to set him off, but aside from that everything just seemed a bit strange.

The two of you had been in a fight last night, because after two years of sleeping with only eachother, going out to dinners with only eachother, and caring so deeply about only eachother, dazai still had the idea that you were just friends. Just coworkers.

You thought he was joking at first but he truly didn't think your relationship was any different after everything you've done. To the point he even brought up how you might as well be sleeping with kunikida and rompo, too. To say you were baffled would be an understatement.

You both slept alone that night, but you knew everything would be okay, after all, you had a cute little dazai inside you and your spirit couldn't be crushed from a dumb fight. However dazai stayed up all night. He was terrified because yes, he never established your relationship, but he loved it how it was. He didn't want it to end. Ever.

If you left him, he wasn't sure who he'd be. Knowing that before he met you, everything he did had no purpose, it was just for the sake of it, but ever since the first case you worked together, he knew that he was doing everything for you.

It's not a healthy way to live, he knows that, but how can he help it when you have litterally jumped off of bridges together. You were just his perfect kinda crazy, and he fucking loved you.

"Hey Dazai, do you know where y/n is? I was supposed to give this to her..." atsushi speaks in a quiet voice, as if the package he holds is a secret.

"No. Why would I know where y/n is, she doesn't belong to me." He sasses, but he says it like he truly wished you did belong to him.

"Well because you're her boyfri-"

"Does everyone think that!" He screams, attracting the attention of everyone in the room. He has to take a few breaths before noticing a paper a top the box in atsushi's hands. Something messily scribbled on it , but it's not any actuall words.

"Hey, atsushi, what that paper?"

The boy looks down to see a series of numbers and letters in no apparent order. It's the paper that made him feel secretive about this package, because it seemed as though somebody was sending coded messages to y/n. He wasn't sure what it said, so if dazai decrypted something...unpreferable, things might go downhill fast.

"Its a code." Rompo interrupts, already having figured out that the box is a gift from your parents. Inside would likely be all of your old baby clothes and a nice letter of congratulations. However, rompo knee you were pregnant because he was the first you told, and he just couldn't help messing with dazai a bit.

"I suppose it could be from one of her contacts back in the port mafia, wasn't there that man she dated, the one with the gravity ability." He spoke seriously, hoping to be convincing enough to get dazai angry.

However despite the fuming rage dazai held inside at the thought of you being in contact with chuuya, he maintained his natural additive on the outside.

"Oh, a rekindled love affair, how scandalous of her. You know if she is still in contact with the port mafia, we might be unable to trust her. ROMPO! DECODE THIS MESSAGE!" He yells, he himself believing that by playing dumb, he could get rompo to solve the whole thing and then go kick chuuua's ass.

Meanwhile, you were wandering the streets looking at all of the corner shops and occasionally buying some small things you might need for the baby.

See when Dazai got home tonight, you had a plan of how to tell him you were pregnant. It was a bit out there, but you thought it was funny.

The living room floor was covered in rose petals and in the center lay two knives. You would tell him that you could commit a Romeo and juliet suicide together but when he asks why there is two knives and the vile of poison, you could tell him it was a triple suicide. Then boom! "We are having a baby!"

You thought it would be funny. It was not.

After rompo lied saying that the massage was a letter about you and chuuya running away together, Dazai rushed home to find you. However he was met with rose petals and knives, you were going to commit suicide without him!?

Even worse, he found that all of the contents of the spare bedroom were dissaray, you were taking apart the furniture and throwing away the blankets, you were gonna leave him!

"Y/n! What are you doing, put the bed back, please just put everything back you don't have to leave. And don't kill yourself without me, I'm so much better than chuiya, I can show you i-"

"Huh?"

You noticed the man now on his knees, throwing a fit and although it was comical, it looked real. His eyes were beginning to water at the thought of life without you and the crazy adventures. He wanted you to be his forever.

"Please baby...I- I want you to be more than a friend and and- commit double suicides with me and have my babies but i- I can't do anything without you please y/n.." He was sobbing, pleading for you, while you were simply trying to move some things around and make room for a nursery.

"Osamu..."

His glossy eyes peered up at you, hands stilling in their prayer motion to hear you out.

"I think we need to talk you about the fact I'm in love with you, and also that I'm pregnant." You muttered, taking a moment to help him up from the floor while his face falls blank.

On the outside it appears he's got nothing going on in his big ol head, but inside he is going through his day to figure out when and where everything got so confusing. He doesn't even acknowledge what you mean by pregnant until you slap him across the face.

"Hey big guy, get excited I'm making dazai's over here." That's when his face comes to life again, eyes a little wider and a goofy smile on his face.

"That means. Another me!" His hands reach out to your tummy holding it delicately to feel the small bump forming.

"And me..." you roll your eyes at him.

"Y/n! Do you know what that means!" He yells, moving to pick you up and spin you around, despite the mess of a room you're in.

"Tripple suicide!!"

"We are gonna be mommy and daddy!"

Your face falls when you realize what he's said, but it warms your heart a bit that he really just wants to be a dad.

Until he kisses your forehead softly and mutters "we might need to work on that crazy head of your while your making my babies in here. Wouldn't want them to come out stupid. "

[youmightfindyourself]

It’s Hard to Find a Good Lamp Donald Judd 1993

In the middle 1980s I wrote that in the middle 1960s someone asked me to design a coffee table. I thought that a work of mine which was essentially a rectangular volume with the upper surface recessed could be altered. This debased the work and produced a bad table, which I later threw away. The configuration and the scale of art cannot be transposed into furniture and architecture. The intent of art is different from that of the latter, which must be functional. If a chair or a building is not functional, if it appears to be only art, it is ridiculous. The art of a chair is not its resemblance to art, but is partly its reasonableness, usefulness, and scale as a chair. These are proportion, which is visible reasonableness. The art in art is partly the assertion of someone’s interest regardless of other considerations. A work of art exists as itself; a chair exists as a chair itself. And the idea of a chair isn’t a chair. Due to the inability of art to become furniture, I didn’t try again for several years. However, I’ve always been interested in architecture and continued to sketch ideas.

Of course if a person is at once making art and building furniture and architecture there will be similarities. The various interests in form will be consistent. If you like simple forms in art you will not make complicated ones in architecture. “Complicated,” incidentally, is the opposite of “simple,” not “complex,” which both may be. But the difference between art and architecture is fundamental. Furniture and architecture can only be approached as such. Art cannot be imposed upon them. If their nature is seriously considered the art will occur, even art close to art itself. The mistake I made with the table was to try to make something as unusual as I thought the work of art to be. Back of this was the assumption that a good chair was only a good chair, that a chair could only be improved or changed slightly, and that nothing new could be done without a great, strange effort. But the furniture slowly became new as I dealt easily with the reality. A good chair is a good chair. The particulars slowly created the general forms that could not be directly transferred. I can now make a chair or a building that is mine without trying to derive forms from my own works of art. After a few years I designed a pair of sinks for an old building that I bought in New York City and for which I’ve designed much subsequently. These were designed directly as sinks; they were not a conversion; I didn’t confuse them with art. The basin of the sink is an ellipse, which so far I’ve never used in art, instead of a circle, which I do use. I also designed a large table with chairs, somewhat like benches, to be made of folded one-eighth-inch stainless steel, brass, or copper. These were never made because the fourth floor of the building in which it was to be is very open, primarily two planes, floor and ceiling, while the table and chairs are very closed. The latter would ruin the space. I later made some bookshelves for the third floor.

I kept the building but moved to West Texas with my two children, where I rented a small house on the edge of town. The house was quartered into eleven-by-eleven-foot rooms. There was no furniture and none to be bought, either old, since the town had not shrunk or changed much since its beginning in 1883, or new, since the few stores sold only fake antiques or tubular kitchen furniture with plastic surfaces printed with inane geometric patterns and flowers. The two small children played and slept in one of the four rooms. In order to give them each an area of their own notwithstanding the one room, I designed a bed which was a closed platform of one-by-twelves with a central, free-standing wall, also of one-by-twelves. The bed was designed so that the lumberyard could cut the few different lengths to size and I could then nail them together in place. I liked the bed a great deal, and in fact the whole house, for which I made other furniture. Later, in a large place in town, I designed desks and chairs for the children using the same method of construction. More furniture developed from this beginning.

It’s impossible to go to the store and buy a chair. In North America since the “Mission” style became unfashionable in the 1920s and in England since the similar furniture derived from William Morris also became unfashionable, there has been no furniture which is pleasurable to look at, fairly available, and moderate in price. The only exception is the bentwood furniture developed by Thonet, which became less fashionable in the 1920s but has continued to be made until now by Thonet and others. This is still not expensive but it is not down the street in the store. The furniture designed in the 1920s by the well-known architects that continues to be made is expensive for most people, although not as expensive as the materials and the construction imply, and is hardly nearby to purchase. Neither is all of it agreeable. Mies van der Rohe’s is still the best and should not be considered as only a worn status symbol. As bad ideas should not be accepted because they are fashionable, good ideas should not be rejected because they are unfashionable. Conventions are not worth reacting to one way or another. Most of the other furniture in production, such as Breuer’s Wassily chair and Le Corbusier’s furniture, is an early civilized and almost forgivable sentimentalizing of the machine. The chairs of both architects are derived from the better camping and military chairs of the nineteenth century. Old good ideas made new and shiny are now a dismaying precedent. Sentimentalizing the machine is now a malignity of the century. This is present in most available furniture and in most buildings. It is extreme in Pompidou and Lloyd’s. In furniture this puerility is usually combined with the puerility of domesticity, the societal progress of the machine with personal progress in the society.

Almost all furniture made since the 1920s and much before in any of the “styles,” “modern” and “traditional,” has been junk for consumers. As I’ve written, the ornate and overstuffed furniture of the last half of the nineteenth century, crowded into corresponding rooms, was not supplanted by simple and functional modern furniture. Instead, this was turned into Victorian furniture, also crowded into matching rooms. Decoration isn’t just applied; a chair is decorated. Modern, progressive furniture has been corrupted into the opposite. Primarily, “traditional” furniture, Victorian furniture, continues. It’s ordinarily what’s in the store. This is what most people have to choose from, whether in Yellowknife or New York. As in politics, this furniture is not traditional and conservative but is an imitation of past furniture. The appearance of the past represents status by invoking a higher class in the past than the purchaser is in in the present. The imitation old furniture symbolizes up and the imitation modern symbolizes forward. Usually the first is in the home and the second is in the office, sometimes one or the other in both, and seldom the reverse. Good office furniture is also difficult to find. The bizarre and complicated “modern” office of the rich executive, who has photographs on his desk of his wife and children in their traditional setting, is a summation of the surrounding corporate headquarters. Since he or his wife is on the board of the museum, it must look progressive, like the headquarters, but with a touch of tradition, for her, for upward mobility to the past, for something better than business, such as learning, although there is nothing better, and, generally for the gentility of art, which symbolizes all of these. Then, also, he may be on the town council, or he builds shopping centers, or he builds apartment houses, giving the people what they want, to go with the furniture in which they had no choice. Upward and forward, and lower every year, not only in architecture and art, but economically and politically, since reality is equally absent. Anyway, what kind of a society is it when you can’t even buy a chair?

Architects, designers, businesspeople, even politicians, say that they are giving the people what they want. They are giving the people what they deserve, because of their negligence, but they are presumptuous to claim to know what they want. What they want is what they get. An exception to imposing upon the public what they want, or perhaps a rare good guess, is the design of Sony television sets and other equipment of some other Japanese companies and of some European companies. This has no relation to traditional Japanese architecture, which is fortunate, because if it did the new version of the old would be just as debased as it is in the United States. Department stores in Osaka are floor after floor of kitsch, as they are in New York. And always surprisingly, and always everywhere, new Japanese and Korean architecture show no fundamental lessons learned from their past architecture, the same as in Paris. In the United States the television machine began disguised and continues as at once the myth of the machine and the myth of the old home. The Americans gave the Americans what they wanted; they didn’t want it. Neither did anyone else. In addition to the success of Sony’s design, there is the smaller success of Braun, whose design must be the model, somewhat better, as earlier usually is, for Sony’s design. A few months ago there was a curious article in Lufthansa’s magazine justly praising Braun and its chief designer, Dieter Rams, praising “German” design of course, but explaining that “German” design was now second to “Italian” design (consumer products are not where nations differ in design) but that Germany would catch up. This means become worse. “Designer” Italian furniture is the world’s worst. The only things as bad are the plastic bottles for liquid soap. It is an exception and a possibility that you can go down the street and choose a TV and enjoy looking at it when it’s turned off. In Texas, when I made the first furniture, I wanted a television set. This wasn’t down the street, but almost so, twenty-five miles away. All the sets were American, all were made of plastic imitating wood, some like your Anglo grandmother’s sideboard, some like your Italian grandmother’s credenza, some like your Latino grandmother’s aparador. I chose an Anglo set by Zenith. Again as usual, the design and the technology were congruent. The color was that of the first colored comic strip, printed during an earthquake.

Most of the furniture that I have designed remains fairly expensive, because of its methods of construction, and it is not easily available. We have made a serious effort to lower the prices but the furniture is handmade, basically even the sheet-metal pieces made by Janssen, one by one. These would be cheaper made by hundreds but still there would be considerable handwork. The wooden furniture cannot change. Lower prices require great numbers, which require a large distribution. This usually leads to the department store. The distribution of furniture, and of books, probably of most things, are monopolies against diversity, which eliminate exceptions and complication, which have an invariable scheme for production and for costs, and of course for appearance, and, for books, subject matter. For both furniture and books the designer and the author absolutely receive very little. The production cost of furniture is not as fixed as the cost of the designer, but it is low. The cost of the designer must have developed from that of real modern furniture, since the architect was always dead. The producer, not the factory, and the retailer, or both as one, receive the most money, some as profit, some for the expenses of the distribution and the salesroom. This makes an impossible price. And of course it seems that the middleman should get less. The larger the distribution the more to the middleman. Therefore the best method is a small distribution, which is what we do. And, importantly, we are the producers, which combines that profit and my profit into one, leaving only the retailer as extra. Our furniture goes around the world, but only one by one. Most things could be made in the area in which they are consumed, eliminating the big distributor, often one company charging for three functions, instead of two for one as in our case, charging three times as the distributor, the producer, and the manufacturer, that is, profiting as corporations. Almost anything they can do anyone can do anywhere. And obviously even cars and TVs could be made by any large city or small country. I have always thought it strange that there are no cars built in Switzerland. I have heard that there was once a company. Why should Texas import cars and trucks from Michigan? The oligarchy of monopolies of distribution prevents innovation, invents only restrictions, and raises blank walls. The flat and boring society is a maze of blank walls just above eye level. This prevents new and real inventions, so obviously there is no chance for only a new chair or a little book. The purpose of big business is to maintain its oligarchy rather than to do anything else, for example, to fulfill two of its biggest claims, competition and innovation. Efficiency is another claim, part of progress, efficiency for profit, not necessarily for production, and not for the public. Only in the mythical “progress” is there a suggestion of benefiting society. Most businesspeople think that such slight altruism is part of their advertising. And “free enterprise” is a slogan of the Pentagon.

Noam Chomsky writes:

Free trade is fine for economics departments and newspaper editorials, but nobody in the corporate world or the government takes the doctrines seriously. The parts of the US economy that are able to compete internationally are primarily the state-subsidized ones: capital-intensive agriculture (agribusiness, as it’s called), high-tech industry, pharmaceuticals, biotechnology, etc.

The same is true of other industrial societies. The US government has the public pay for research and development and provides, largely through the military, a state-guaranteed market for waste production. If something is marketable, the private sector takes it over. That system of public subsidy and private profit is what is called free enterprise.

My experience is that both furniture distribution and book distribution are impossible. On the other hand the art business is such a one-horse business that something larger seems better. But this is perhaps because the context for art is so weak. The only possible way, perhaps, to make cheap mass-produced furniture is to start with a construction cost and to design accordingly. At present we would have to debase the construction of the existing furniture for mass production. Beginning from a fixed construction cost still leaves the questions of too little to the designer and too much to the producer-organizer-wholesaler and to the retailer.

The roughly made pine furniture made by me and others in Texas was made first, with a few exceptions. So far this has not been made for sale. Next, well-made furniture in fine solid wood was made for my building in New York and then in small numbers to sell, as it still is. The wood and the craftsmanship make this the most expensive. In 1984 I designed some chairs, benches, a table, and some beds in sheet metal, which were painted one color to a piece. There were also a couple of chairs and a table made of copper. This was for myself but also was the first furniture to begin as furniture to sell. Since this was sheet metal and the construction is common, I thought it would be cheap enough to be used outdoors in public, but there is still too much handwork. Until then, except for the first pine chairs, all of the furniture was somewhat heavy. Five years ago I designed some light chairs and two tables in solid wood. These are simply but well made in Yorkshire. Similar ones were made recently for outdoors in galvanized steel and of granite, again heavy, and also in Texas in painted steel and of slate. A few years ago, first for use, then for sale, desks, tables, and a bench were made in Cologne of clear plywood. The sheets of plywood are cut as little as possible and are slipped together, interlocking, like a children’s toy, an old idea. These also, sometimes with the plywood coated commercially with a color, as well as chairs like those in pine, are made in New York.

I am often asked if the furniture is art, since almost ten years ago some artists made art that was also furniture. The furniture is furniture and is only art in that architecture, ceramics, textiles, and many things are art. We try to keep the furniture out of art galleries to avoid this confusion, which is far from my thinking. And also to avoid the consequent inflation of the price. I am often told that the furniture is not comfortable, and in that not functional. The source of the question is in the overstuffed bourgeois Victorian furniture, which, as I said, never ceased. The furniture is comfortable to me. Rather than making a chair to sleep in or a machine to live in, it is better to make a bed. A straight chair is best for eating or writing. The third position is standing.

First published: Donald Judd Furniture: Retrospective, exh. cat. (Rotterdam: Museum Boymans-van Beuningen, 1993), 7–21.

Donald Judd Text © Judd Foundation

[shirophantomvox]

First Date with Chrollo (Human Diary)

Hello everyone! I am back with another “First Date” post featuring the Prince of Darkness. This was an anon post but I can't find the ask anywhere! I have been watching JoJo’s Bizarre Adventures lately and it is a very interesting show. Dio turned into a zombie and he’s so mean to Joseph. Anyway, let’s get into the post. The end is a bit angst-y but I did that to take a slight turn from all Fluff. I hope you enjoy! Part 2 coming sometime this week.m

It is common knowledge that Chrollo loves to read many books. When he was a child, he had time to read and that provided a great source of comfort. Although he seems to be ruthless, every human has the ability to seek compatibility and compassion. Both Hisoka and Chrollo enjoy the romance genre except Hisoka prefers to watch movies while Chrollo loves to read stories. You've known Chrollo since elementary school. You were fortunate enough to be able to move out of Meteor City and attend a better elementary school. As a child, you were an outcast and made few friends but on occasion, Chrollo would see you at a local arcade. Of course, your mother paid for the both of you to have fun but once it was over, it broke your heart because you knew about the conditions he’d return to once he left.

As time went on, you entered college and decided to invite Chrollo on campus so he could be something like a driving force for future success. You’ve been accepted into Yorknew University planning on majoring in Computer Science with a minor in Digital Art. Reaching Chrollo posed a challenge. He never responded to a few messages but on the third try, he answered with an excited response.

“Please forgive me y/n for not responding soon enough. I am more than happy to visit you. I am proud of you and your accomplishments. I do not see myself as a college man but, hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it right? I’ll be in touch.”

-Chrollo

At exactly 7 PM on a calm Fall night, standing outside of the campus’ most prominent book store, you began to sweat and your makeup began to drip. Just as you were about to wipe it off, you heard a voice call your name.

“Y/n? Is that you?” He chuckled as he questioned your appearance.

Turning around, you jumped a little at the sight before you. This wasn’t the same Chrollo you remember, of course. He had grown several feet, his face was much sharper, his arms were much bigger, had a bandana tied on his forehead, and he had a few rings on. He was dressed in a white polo shirt, black pressed slacks and black dress shoes. It’s weird. It felt like an arrow was shot through your heart.

“Are you ok? You act as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine! I’m just---You--look…”

“Ah, I see. There’s no need to be flustered. I am the same as when we were kids.”

The Yorknew Sailor Store was designed something exactly like a Barnes and Noble except the walls were painted to match the school’s colors.

The bookstore had a perfectly designed Starbucks, with a wooden finish, black and brown metal tables, beige tile floor, and glass doors.

Chrollo immediately noticed the change in behavior, one he wasn’t used to.

The students were snooty according to him and reminded him of how the city council would act towards him, his family, and those who were like him.

First, you offered to buy him a drink. The good thing about Chrollo is that if you or anyone else offers to buy something, He will not reject it. There is no such thing as having too much pride regarding him.

“Do you drink coffee?”

“Of course I do,” he replied. “But I don’t think I’ve had any of these drinks. A Caramel Macchiato? That sounds good.”

“Order it then! That will give you just the right amount of energy for today’s reading!”

To you, this was just two friends reuniting with each other but something else told you that Chrollo thought it was something more. He only dressed up like this if he was going out with someone special and even then it wasn’t an expensive Polo Short, It was his best t-shirt and jeans.

It boggles your mind how Chrollo acquired his expensive clothing but maybe he obtained a great job and is able to make a living for himself.

“I’d like to order a Caramel Macchiato.”

“What’s the name for this drink?”

“Chrollo,” you responded.

“And for you?”

“I would like a caramel Frappuccino with soy milk and no whip cream.”

“Alright. That’ll be $15.00.”

Chrollo glanced at you wide-eyed.

“It’s ok. I got it.”

You take out your card to pay and as you move out of line you bend over to whisper in his ear. “Maybe you can pay for dinner though.”

He laughed and smiled. “Of course, y/n.”

The bookstore was full of comfortable furniture ranging from light blue, dark blue, white in the lounge area. Both of you decided to sit across from each other on the blue chairs that swallowed you both as you sat.

As he read, he’d point out any interesting points in the book. He got tired of yelling across the table, so he decided to share a chair with you. He could feel the heat radiating from your body.

It was almost obvious that you all were involuntarily flirting with each other. The school was full of couples but occasionally seeing the goofy couple was the highlight of everyone’s day.

“This man was so devoted to a woman that does not know that he exists.”

“Sounds pointless,” you say, still trying to read your book.

“Well, she knows he exists but she is ignoring him and making him look like a fool in front of everyone. He says that there is something about her that he has never seen in any woman.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s her eyes, smile, intelligence, the shape of her lips, and her perfume powder aroma. Those are things that drive men wild.”

You smiled and laughed but came to a quick halt when you felt something along the ridge of your neck made you still. The hair on your neck stood up still as the invading force came in contact with your skin. It was Chrollo grazing his nose against your skin, slightly sniffing in your aroma; slowly breathing in and out.

Closing your eyes couldn’t make your sudden arousal fade. At this point, nearly everybody was looking at you both and looked away. This behavior was innocent for college culture, but it was taken as a cute gesture rather than naughty.

You blush. It was quite surprising that your childhood friend viewed you as something of the sort. It was both flattering and scary.

There’s no denying that Chrollo is handsome but if you dated him and the relationship didn't last, it could ruin your friendship.

At this point, Chrollo had his right arm resting lazily behind your back as his head and next aimed in a position that would allow his nose to lay carelessly on your neck.

“You smell delightful. I didn’t know you wore such expensive perfume. Is it….,” He sniffs again, “Flower Rose?”

“Yes! How did you know? Does your mother wear it?”

“She does now. I bought it for her a week ago and now the guys in the city can’t stay off her.”

Wow. The City. Even though it was a hell hole, it was your hell hole. How is everything? How is your mother? How did you manage to have such an expensive taste in clothing and fragrance?

Chrollo enjoys making others flustered. It's amusing to see them stutter when they’re either aroused or nervous.

On the flip side, seeing Chrollo flustered was the highlight of the century! The bad guys are used to being “bad” but expressing softer emotions makes it amazing and a reminder that they can experience them too.

Grabbing Chrollo’s left hand, you gently kiss it a few times and wink at him. He smiled, hiding his dumbfounded expression, and blushed slightly.

“I see you catch on quick.”

“I was raised in Meteor City. Just because I’m here doesn't mean I have forgotten where I come from. But I didn’t know you liked me.”

“You were the only one that trusted me and played with me when no one would.”

It felt like two magnets were pulling you closer. If he kissed you right here right now, you could just melt into a puddle but before anything happened, Chrollo’s phone rang loud and echoed throughout the bookstore.

Glancing at his phone, you saw an unknown number call, and judging from his actions he stood quickly to his feet.

“I’ll only be gone for a second.”

Hmm. That was odd. During this short intermission, you continue to read your book. Ironic enough, you weren’t into romance novels per se, you enjoyed action and comedy books!

Once Chrollo returned, his face was flushed and his soft demeanor had suddenly disappeared. He looked as if he was going to punch a wall.

“What’s wrong, Chrollo?”

He glanced at you with a somber smile, hoping to convince you that he was alright. “I am fine, y/n.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, if you count my mother being seriously injured, then yes.”

“Oh no! We can leave now, it’s fine.”

“No, it's ok. She wouldn’t want me to leave you all by yourself at this time of day.” He pointed to the night sky.

Wow! That was quick!

“What do you mean?”

“My mother predicted that I could end up with you...she also predicted that someone would be hurt or in danger if that prophecy was fulfilled. It’s sort of like give or take. In order to make someone happy, someone has to surrender their happiness and I guess it was her.”

A single tear dropped down his cheek and nothing more. He didn’t care if other men singled out his “weakness” because he’d destroy them all and he didn’t want y/n to know about his abilities until later.

The comfort of your warmth against his head provided more than comfort. He felt safe, welcomed, not judged, and vulnerable. He knew that you wouldn’t make him out to be a bad person but instead welcome him home with open arms. You were his human diary.

[astaroth1357]

Artistic MC Wants the Demon Brothers to Pose for a Portrait

This one was inspired by and goes out to all the fan-artists out there. Seriously, you all are so creative, talented, and bring so much color to the fandoms you enjoy. Never stop showing us just what you can make! 😁

Check out the Masterlist for more!

Lucifer:

A little amused and, of course, his ego appreciates the stroking. Won't jump on the opportunity though. He's got better things to do then stand in place for a who knows how long?

It will take some begging coaxing to get him to pose for one. If they do a good job they might get two!

Prefers to be in his demon form, beautiful and imposing, with all wings on full display. Think something from the Renaissance-era and that's about how he wants it. Very high standards.

Maaaay pose topless but that's only if it's the second portrait which means that first one better be a masterpiece. Everything else stays on like they’re locked in place though.

Will be very patient and still for the first hour but if it starts going longer than that he's going to get a little restless. He was serious when he said he has a lot to do and sitting/standing in place too long gets him anxious.

Mammon

Turns into a blushing boi at the question. Tries to cover it up with a "W-well of course you'd want to draw the Great Mammon! I'm not surprised at all!"

Embarrassed but lowkey flattered and totally into it. He’s done modeling in the past so he’s used to having his image out there after all.

He likes looks that show him as either sexy or mischievous, bonus points if it's both. Might try to sneak them into places they shouldn't technically be in, but would make a killer background. Or just places that will annoy Lucifer. Demon Lord’s Castle, anyone?

Gonna blush if they want him topless. Gonna REALLY blush for nude. Might demand a little Grimm in exchange for the last one but would do it.

Stays still enough through the process. He usually does photo-shoots so he's used to doing more movement but understands these things take time. Will try to talk to them the entire time which may or may not be distracting.

 Leviathan

*Levi.exe has crashed* Rebooting...

Becomes a blushing, stuttering mess trying to rationalize why they would ever want to draw/paint/etc. a yucky, awkward, unattractive otaku like him. Are they messing with him? Getting his hopes up? Is it a prank? A dream??

It’s going to take a lot of assurances, compliments, promises, and probably a bribe or two to get him to even consider. We’re talking limited edition TSL or Ruri-chan merch, at least.

Even if sufficiently incentivized, the nervous bean doesn’t make the best model if they want to pose him. He feels awkward and fidgets constantly. If he poses himself, however, now they’re getting somewhere.

His most comfortable poses tend to be just him playing some games or lounging in his room, pretty much just Levi in his natural habit, but… better. More attention to detail, position, composition, etc. If it's a snapshot of his life, then he's the most eye-catching thing in it.

Clothes. Stay. On. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Even if he were comfortable going nude (which he is not), he doesn't want people to just… see that you know??

Satan

Is actually flattered at the suggestion and is not afraid to state so. 

He’s very appreciative of the arts so he’s more than happy to lend himself over as inspiration.

Likes contemplative poses or ones that imply inner depth/calm. They’re the parts of himself he'd most like to see… or doubts he has.

Will try his best to stay still and keep composure for as long as possible, but he may start to feel the fatigue after a bit. Even demon bodies are used to, you know, moving after a while.

Going to probably go flushed if they ask him to remove any clothing. He knows that nudity is just another form of artistic expression but it's so… intimate. He may agree, but ask for a modesty covering like a sheet or well placed prop.

Asmodeus

He's been waiting so long…

The day has finally come…

*strips down on the spot and drapes himself across the nearest piece of furniture*

"Draw me like one of your French girls~! ❤❤❤"

They get forced to take the project to his room because no one wants Asmo's naked ass cheeks to stay on the dining room table a second longer than they have to.

Asmo is a perfect model. He follows instructions with ease and can hold a pose almost like a statue with nearly limitless stamina and patience. You think this is his first time modeling? He's an old pro.

Will let himself be drawn anywhere and in almost any way physically possible. The dude doesn't get embarrassed easily.

Asking him to pose is like opening a Pandora's Box though. Now that he's had a taste, he will not stop. He is their one and only muse from now on. For life.

Beelzebub 

How long are we talking? Can there be snack breaks? If so, deal.

Boy will say yes to pretty much anything with food involved so bring snacks and buy him a meal afterward and he's all in.

Not terrible at holding form and his stamina certainly helps. Doesn't really have a preference on how he gets posed though it's best if he can easily drop it and get back into it because you know. Snack breaks.

Not bothered at all being shirtless but nude is a big ask… The poor boy would be embarrassed, even if it's all for art. May say no, honestly, even if bribed with more food.

They may have to constantly brush off crumbs or remind him to wipe his face before returning to form again. He's not the cleanest eater when he really gets going.

Belphegor 

Sure, but does he have to stay awake for the whole thing?

Only willing to pose if he can hold it in his sleep. Literally. No standing. Comfy setting. You know what, can he just stay in bed? That can look nice, right?

Well he's going to stay pretty still because he's pretty much unconscious. May roll over at some point and require the MC to wake his ass up and get him back into position.

Doesn't care how it comes out really. He gets a free nap either way.

Shirtless? Sure. Nude? Eh, why not. He likes sleeping in the nude. Just don't try any funny stuff on him, human.